A Touch of Destiny
by Charlie Soules
Summary: Grace Fisher was destined to free the seven seas from the tyranny of Davy Jones. Pushed out of harm's way by a faceless mother she can't remember, she grows up alongside James Norrington. Grace learns that adventure isn't bound to the realm of man or god, but is torn between two worlds. She can follow her heart or obey the prophecy made by Calypso... or die trying.
1. Saving Grace

The full moon reflected down upon the water like a thousand stars. The only sound was the constant lapping of the waves against the sandy shore. An owl hooted nearby in a hidden tree. The air was warm and balmy, full of the smells of midsummer. The soil was rich with rainfall, the flowers in full bloom. Dark fruit ripened among the green leaves of the trees. All was calm and quiet.

A young man with wild brown hair and even wilder brown eyes approached the sea shore. His leather boots sank slightly into the wet sand. He halted when he reached the edge of the waves. On one scarred hand he had a single silver ring, a small opal impressed within it. He gazed out across the moonlit bay, listening. Waiting.

Ten minutes passed. The young man grew anxious. He shifted his weight from foot to foot. Perhaps she wasn't coming. Perhaps there had been a mistake. After all, it had been nearly a year since they had last seen one another. Nearly a year since he had been with the one his heart belonged to.

The moon rose higher still. The young man felt his hope being replaced by chilly disappointment. He cursed fouly. He should have known. He was being foolish. Women seldom blessed their men with anything but an aggrieved heart. Better he stayed alone and untethered like the rest of his fellows.

Just as the man turned from the beach to head back to the small village just minutes from the shore, he heard a small noise. He paused. At first, it sounded like a small kitten. A faint mewling noise tickled his sharpened ears again. He turned slightly, trying to pinpoint the origin of the pitiful sound. Most likely, it was just a seal pup pining for his mother. The man started to leave again.

The ring on his finger suddenly burned. White-hot and making his eyes smart, he yelped and cursed in pain, trying to wrench off the ring. It was stuck tight. Seeing no alternative, the man rushed to the water's edge and plunged his searing fist into the cool ocean.

The burning stopped. Sighing in relief, the man waited a moment later. He knew there would be a burn, scabbing, and another ugly scar to mar his hand. Resigned, he heaved himself back to his feet and turned to go a final time.

He nearly tripped over a small dark bundle.

Stabilizing himself, the young man gazed down upon the mass. The silvery light of the full moon made it easier for him to see what lay before him. The size of a loaf of bread and wrapped in seaweed was a child.

The young man stared in disbelief. Was it alive? Surely not. It looked wet and utterly woebegone. Grimacing, he bent down and picked up the bundle gingerly.

It cried.

Swearing again, this time in surprise, the man cradled the child closer. It was an infant, no older than a month old, with a patch of strawberry blonde hair that looked dark orange because it was wet. The child wailed louder. It was surprisingly warm and well-fed. The young man glanced around fervently, trying to look for its mother.

"Hello?" He called uncertainly. "Is someone there? Anyone? Hello!"

But only the gentle waves lapping the shore answered him. The child cried again, waving her small fists. Her tiny mouth was open and quivering. The young man held her closer, trying to share his body warmth. Surely her mother would come for her in the daylight. But what kind of mother would leave her child alone on the beach at well past midnight in the first place?

The man hurried from the beach towards a familiar cottage situated a quarter mile from where the child had been lying. His sister, who already had two children and a nursing baby, would be happy to take on one more mouth to feed. When the ship left port in a week, he would board it as well. Hopefully, this small act of grace and mercy would make the gods smile down upon him.

He did not notice the shape rising from the waters, staring at his retreating form. He didn't hear the same form begin to cry, a low, melodious tune filled with such grief that it made the owl leave its tree and seek solace somewhere more peaceful. Only the figure in the water knew that one of the two who had departed her beach carried with them a torch of destiny.


	2. Puppy Love

_The Industrial Revolution was still a few decades away in Great Britain. England's population was held in check by harvest failures and diseases. London was the beating heart of the thriving nation, situated around the polluted Thames River. The cities were festered with raw sewage dumped into the streets and overcrowded with merchants and shoppers roaming the narrow cobblestoned streets. The noise was overwhelming, the stench of humanity even more so._

I looked up from the notes, eyes glazing over. Mistress Hall was perched at her desk, glaring down her thin nose and through her spectacles at me. Her brown hair was pulled back tightly in a severe bun. Her face, which looked as if it had never once known a smile, hardened as I looked back. I was too bored to care if she decided to punish me for not reading.

I felt a sharp prod in my side. I glanced over, frowning. A boy my age was giving me a meaningful look through serious green eyes.

"You'd better get back to reading." James hissed as Mistress Hall pursed her thin lips. "She's extra mean today."

"Alright, alright." I muttered, looking back down at my book. I finished reading the last few paragraphs of the history book and looked up only when Mistress Hall cleared her throat loudly.

"I would like for you children to recite the national anthem before I dismiss you for the day." She demanded. "Stand up."

The twenty children in her care obeyed. Like soldiers, each of us held a hand over our hearts and chanted "God Save the Queen" at her like a bunch of parakeets.

"Very good." Mistress Hall barked. "You may go."

"Yes ma'am." The class chimed back, except for me. I was staring at the fringe of dark hair across her unwaxed upper lip and had said, "yes, sir."

The class fell silent. I felt heat climb into my cheeks. James gaped in horror. I clenched my hands into fists as Mistress Hall strode over quietly, skulking closer like the Grim Reaper.

"Excuse me?" She said quietly. Her dark eyes were flashing dangerously. "What did I just hear come from your uncouth little mouth?"

In spite of my error, I found myself staring back up at her, forcing myself not to flinch away. "I was distracted, ma'am. I didn't realize what I had said."

She glared at me through the spectacles. "I want lines, Fisher. Twenty of them. You shall write, _I must not tell lies_. The rest of you may go."

The nineteen other children scattered like roaches. James looked at me, concerned.

"Mr. Norrington!" Mistress Hall snapped. "Outside with the rest of the class. Unless you'd like to join Miss Fisher in her punishment."

James stood stoutly. "I'll do half of the lines, ma'am, if that is alright with you."

I grinned at James, my back to Mistress Hall, who sighed, deflating at James' stoic calm and his perfectly cultured mannerisms. It was hard not to be charmed by such a dashing eight-year-old boy. "Very well, very well. But no talking."

James and I picked up a piece of white chalk and began scrawling her instructions across the board. James' handwriting was neat and cultured; mine was hastily scrawled and uneven. Mistress Hall's eyebrows lifted in disapproval.

"You'll be needing to practice your penmanship, Miss Fisher." she said in a highly offended tone. "You both may go."

James and I hurried out of the schoolhouse. The late spring weather was warm and enticing, blowing the fragrant tang of salt off of the Atlantic just a quarter mile from where we stood. We rushed down to the water's edge, abandoning most of our clothes in our haste. The beach was empty except for a few seals who moaned at us, but didn't leave their warm sunning spots.

"That old bird… I swear, she's got it in for me!" I complained as I splashed about in nothing but my petticoat. I loved the feeling of the cool water rushing against my hot skin.

James smirked imperiously. "Perhaps if you tried a little more flattery and a little less daydreaming, she'd like you."

"Maybe she likes you because your father pays for her salary." I shot back, kicking a volume of water at him. James laughed and chased after me, pelting me with a wad of black seaweed. Shrieking, we played with reckless abandon until the sun had sunk considerably in the sky. We left the sea and plodded back toward the village of Saint de Lune.

"You know, Father's asked me to join him on a voyage." James said in an excited voice. "We're going to hunt down pirates!"

I frowned. "Pirates? But they're such ghastly creatures. Why would you want to go? I'd be afraid for my life!"

"Well," James said proudly, "if I want to be like my father someday, I'll need to start facing my fears."

I shrugged. "I think there are better ways to spend your life than chasing after pirates."

James puffed out his chest. "I say! I'm going to be an admiral someday, like my father. You just wait, Grace."

"Right." I said, rolling my eyes. "I've never met an admiral who was afraid of spiders."

James looked defiant. "I'm not afraid of spiders! You squash them with your shoes. That's all."

"Really?" I said, pointing. "Because there's a large yellow and black one right behind you."

James turned and glimpsed the hand-sized garden spider hanging on an impressive web near the front door of a house. He let out a piercing shriek and ran behind me. I laughed at his expense.

"That… just… surprised me!" James gasped, his green eyes wide. I laughed harder.

"Just admit it!" I crowed. "You were afraid!"

"I was not!" James shouted. "I'm not afraid of anything."

"Sure." I said teasingly. "Sure you aren't."

James folded his arms. "Well, Mother _did_ ask me to invite you to supper. But I don't want you to come over if you're going to make fun of me."

I frowned. "That's mean, James. We're still friends. It's fine to make fun."

James looked indignant. "Very well. You may still come over."

I huffed and turned away. "No thank you, Mr. Norrington. I've got to go home and practice my penmanship."

James snorted. "Not that practice improves anything, but if you must." We parted ways. I lived in a house on the road to his. The Norrington manor was the largest house in the village, situated atop a small cliff that overlooked the crashing sea and had a full view of the ocean and the countryside sprawling behind it.

I glared after his retreating back, but knew that our friendship was in no real danger. We had been friends since we were five years old. Nothing had changed that, not even our different social class.

The house I lived in was small. One-story and holding only six rooms, it sheltered myself, my aunt, uncle, and their three children. My father returned to port every few months and stayed briefly. Sometimes he would be home for a few weeks. Other times, a few hours. He never stayed longer than two months. My uncle was a better father figure than he was, though I had learned that no one could replace the man who had brought me into this world.

Aunt Angela was shaking out laundry to hang when I entered the house. She glanced over at me and gave me a small smile.

"How was your day?" She asked as she pinned one of Uncle John's trousers to a line.

I shrugged. "It was alright. I couldn't help but notice Mistress Hall's moustache."

"Grace Fisher!" Aunt Angela gasped. "Do not speak of your educator in such a way. She is a very smart woman and very strong to take on teaching twenty rambunctious children five days a week. Now come here and help me with the chores."

Grumbling, I obeyed. Aunt Angela and I sang softly as we finished hanging up the clothes and went outside into the garden to tend to the growing vegetables.

"Where are the others?" I asked, meaning my cousins.

Aunt Angela gestured to the three figures coming towards us down the main road. "Returning from the market. We needed meat and flour."

I waved at them. Mary, Nathan, and Samuel waved back in greeting.

"You may go." Aunt Angela said, smiling. "Oh, come here, dear. You have a smudge on your cheek."

I squirmed while she wiped away the speck of dirt on my nose. She smiled at me. Aunt Angela, Uncle John, Mary, Nathan, Samuel, and Father all had the same wild brown hair and eyes. I alone had bright strawberry blonde hair that curled in waves and sea-blue eyes. I had inherited my father's chin and nose, but otherwise, looked nothing like the man.

I hurried away to meet my cousins, who were carrying bags of groceries in their arms. Nathan was the eldest at fourteen, then Samuel at ten. Mary was my age. She grinned, noticing my damp hair.

"You went swimming, didn't you?" She said.

"After I called Mistress Hall 'sir'." I said lazily as I took a bag of flour from her arms.

Samuel and Nathan guffawed. "Lucky she didn't spank you." Nathan said. "Had you been a boy, you'd be unable to sit down for a week."

I regaled them with tales of the day while we made our way back to the house. It was quaint and familiar. A small column of furling smoke rose from the chimney. As we entered, Aunt Angela instructed us on how to go about the rest of our chores.

"Master Norrington is going on a voyage tomorrow." Uncle John announced later at dinner.

"I know," I said, eating a roll. "James told me he's going."

Aunt Angela frowned. "Well, that's odd. James is just a child. He really shouldn't be going on an excursion to apprehend pirates."

"We aren't children, Aunt Angela." I said indignantly. "We're almost nine."

Nathan and Uncle John choked back laughter while Aunt Angela fixed me with a stern look. "That'll be enough of your cheek, Grace Fisher. You're too much like your father, off sowing wild oats."

"Angela," John said, laying his hand upon hers.

Aunt Angela looked upset. I frowned as she refused to meet my gaze.

"Your father is coming into port in a fortnight." Uncle John said. "I'm sure he'd love to see you."

I clapped excitedly. "Oh, really? I haven't seen Father since March."

"Try to look presentable." Aunt Angela reminded me. "You're too much like my sons. Not afraid to get dirty or throw punches. My word. Not the way for a proper young lady to act at all."

I rolled my eyes. "But what if I don't _want_ to be a lady? I want to go out and explore. I want to see the world! Why is that so bad?"

"Because!" Aunt Angela reprimanded. "You are a young lady. We are giving you an education in hopes that someday you can make something out of yourself."

I glared down at my nearly empty plate. "I never asked to be a girl."

"Heavens, help me." Aunt Angela said breathlessly. "You're too much like my brother. Lord! Before we know it you'll be hanging from the riggings of a ship and-"

"Look!" Samuel interrupted his fussing mother. "Admiral Norrington is coming this way."

Aunt Angela and Uncle John leapt to their feet. They were trying to gussy themselves up before they answered the door. I glanced around their bodies as they opened the door to reveal the tall, intimidating presence of Admiral Lawrence Norrington.

"Good evening, Mr. and Mrs. Moore." He said formally, smiling.

"Good evening, Admiral." Uncle John said, shaking a proferred hand. "To what do we owe this visit?"

There was no animosity, only curiosity and a tinge of fear.

Admiral Norrington stretched on the front of his boots and caught my eye. He smiled warmly.

"My son James was expecting Miss Fisher to attend dinner with us. We were hoping that she might want to join us for dessert and a story."

"Oh, of course!" I cried jubilantly. I jumped over to the door. Aunt Angela fussed some more, muttering about 'wild child' and 'just like her father'.

"Of course, if that isn't a problem." Admiral Norrington said gaily. "I see we've interrupted your own dinner."

"Not at all, not at all." Uncle John said, waving him down. "Admiral, would it be alright for her to spend the night? I'm afraid the hour is growing late and I must be awake early for work."

Uncle John worked as a blacksmith. He made swords, including the ones that Admiral Norrington used.

He smiled. "Why, of course. Come along, dear, we'll take the carriage back up to the house. Good night, Moore family. I will return your ward in the morrow."

Aunt Angela bent down to brush a kiss on my forehead. Though she was fussy and often overbearing, I knew she really did care for me deeply. She had been the one to raise me after my father had been off to sea. I had never known my real mother.

A small pang of familiar sorrow twisted inside of me at the thought, but it was forgotten as I hurried out of the house and clambered into the carriage that would take me to the Norrington Manor. Admiral Norrington patted the driver seat. "Care to drive with me?"

I grinned in disbelief. "Yes, please!"

"Up you get." He helped me settle in beside him. He snapped the reigns once. The sleek horses tossed their beautiful heads and pulled the carriage forward. We were heading uphill, passing increasingly affluent properties as we neared the cliffside hill where the manor stood, every window a square of warm yellow light in the darkness.

"I hope you know that James is going to miss you." Admiral Norrington informed me as we neared the house. "He is also quite afraid of going out to open sea with me. He specifically requested to see you tonight."

I blinked up at him. "Oh." Was it that obvious that James and I were such good friends?

Admiral Norrington smiled. "I am happy that my son is able to be friends with a lovely young girl like you. It makes him thankful for what he has. You are a dear child, Grace Fisher." His eyes shadowed for a moment before clearing. "Here we are."

No more than ten minutes had passed since the time we left my house to when we arrived past the black iron gates of the stunning mansion. A marble fountain in the front gushed clear water. Statues of various creatures lined the steps to the impressive oak doors. A huge chandelier hung in the foyer, adding to the grandeur of the home. Admiral Norrington helped me climb down and led me inside, where several servants and maids greeted us with water and offered to take our coats.

"James is in the parlor." Admiral Norrington said. "You remember where it is?"

I nodded and hurried off to the red-paneled room. A merry fire crackled in the large stone hearth, giving off a pleasant odor of smoked wood. James sat at the red table, his mother seated near him. She smiled warmly when she saw me. She was very similar looking to her son, with the same nose, mouth, and eye color. James had inherited his hair and facial shape from his father.

"We are so delighted you could join us, Grace." Katherine Norrington said, addressing me by my first name. "Won't you please, sit down?"

I did. Choosing a seat next to James, I watched as the kitchen staff served Yorkshire pudding and slabs of Spanish chocolate on perfect white porcelain plates. I waited until the Norringtons began to eat before I picked up my fork. The food tasted heavenly.

"My boys leave for the sea in the morning." Katherine Norrington said sadly. She patted her sons' cheek. "James wishes to follow in his father's footsteps. And so he shall."

"Katherine, my dear," Admiral Norrington chortled, "the boy's growing up. He needs to learn by watching, not just by sitting in the classroom."

"Pirates are such fearsome creatures." Katherine went on, fanning herself dramatically. "Don't you agree, Grace?"

I nodded. "I guess so. I've never actually seen one."

James gave me a pointed look. "And you shouldn't. They're vile beings. They'll rip your bodice off and make you wish you were dead."

"James Lawrence Norrington!" Katherine gasped. "Where ever did you learn to talk like that?"

James glanced at his father guiltily, who was smoking a thick cigar. "Don't mind the boy, Katherine." Admiral Norrington assuaged. "He's got to grow up sometime, you know."

"I think it's exciting, really." I said casually as I finished my dessert. "Going off to sea… I've always dreamed of such things. But my aunt and uncle say I'm to remain on the land and become a proper lady. But my father is a sailor. Maybe it's in my blood."

Admiral Norrington and his wife exchanged an uneasy glance. "A wise suggestion from your family." Katherine said carefully. "A proper lady is more valuable than a sackful of gold."

"Mother," James said lazily, "isn't it true that we already know-"

"It's time for a story." Admiral Norrington interrupted his son, giving him a hard look that silenced him. "Shall we continue with _Utopia_ or _Robinson Crusoe_?"

"Either." James said, bored.

"If you aren't interested, you can go to bed." His father suggested.

James shook his head. "Alright, alright. Grace? What say you?"

I shrugged. "Which one is more adventurous?"

Admiral Norrington selected a book and sat down in a stuffed chair. " _Robinson Crusoe_ it is."

James and I relocated near the fire to listen to his father read. Katherine Norrington sat near her son as the story progressed, drawing him closer. Either James didn't notice or he didn't mind. After awhile, she had him wrapped in her arms lovingly, as if she didn't want to let him go.

I felt an odd sensation in the pit of my stomach, watching them. I heard Admiral Norrington reading the book, but only saw a mother holding her child. A tightness spread in my throat. Blinking back tears, I looked away, hugging my knees to my chest.

I had never known my mother. Aunt Angela had cared for me since I was an infant, but there was a different tenderness in how she looked after her own children, my cousins, than she did me. It was as if there was a certain, irreplaceable bond between a mother and her child. One that I had never had.

 _Why_? I thought sadly. _Where is my real mother? Why didn't she want me?_

"I think it's time for bed." Admiral Norrington said, breaking me away from the direction of my thoughts. Embarrassed, I wiped my eyes with the back of my sleeves.

"Yes, I agree." His wife said, rising to her feet. "Come along, children. I'll tuck you in upstairs."

Katherine Norrington escorted us up the grand winding staircase with its white oak bannisters and huge chandelier. She led us past six doors before we entered James' sleeping quarters. His bed was larger than my aunt and uncle's, loaded with soft pillows and a feather-filled duvet. Katherine Norrington said we'd been splashing in the water enough today to be clean enough for bed. She changed us separately into nightclothes and tucked James in for the night. She led me away into the room next door and settled me in the big bed.

"Good night, dear." She said, kissing my forehead affectionately. "You know you are always welcome at our home."

I gazed at her lovely face, then her heavy silver pendant. This woman lived in luxury and without worry about her own parentage or safety. She was a proper English lady who had a comfortable life stretching ahead of her.

"Good night." I said politely. Katherine Norrington doused the lamps and allowed the moonlight to stream through the big window. She closed the door behind her softly.

I lay there for what felt like hours, watching the pale face of the moon rising higher into the sky until it disappeared from view. Every noise had me on edge. I couldn't stop thinking about my cousins or my shared room with Mary. Alone, it was just too quiet.

And I couldn't stop picturing the face of my mother, whom I couldn't remember. I couldn't suppress the aching loss I felt either.

Finally, I had had enough. I swung my legs over the edge of the huge bed and crept soundlessly out of the room and into the hall. All was dark and quiet. Distantly, I could hear snoring. I guessed it was Admiral Norrington. I opened the door to James' room and closed it quietly behind me.

James sat up. He blinked blearily, rubbing his eyes. "What's the matter?" He said sleepily.

I crossed the rugged room to his bedside. "I can't sleep alone."

The statement was also a question. James shrugged and turned away. I bit my lip. When I didn't leave, he moaned and patted the empty side. Victorious, I jumped up, scooting against him so he moved away grumpily.

"Watch it." He muttered as I kicked him in the calf.

"Sorry." I whispered. Already, I felt better. There was a warm, heavy weight in the bed, a comforting presence reminding me that I was not alone. I snuggled into the pillows and relaxed.

After a moment, I said, "James?"

James grunted a response.

"Do you… do you think my mother wanted me? Do you think she's alive?"

James was silent for a moment. I worried he had fallen asleep. I listened hard.

"I think…" James said quietly. "You're right where you need to be."

I smiled slightly. "Thanks, James. Good night."

"Good night."

A cricket chirped in the room. I chewed my lip again. "Hey, James?"

"Good Lord." James moaned. "What?"

I hesitated. "We'll always be together, right?"

James made a non-commital noise. I felt a flutter of panic. "James?"

"I said _always_!" James muttered hotly. "Now go to sleep."

"Okay." A long pause. "James?"

"Grace Fisher, go to sleep or so help me, I will take you with me out to sea tomorrow and hand you to the pirates myself."

I grinned, facing away from him. "Good night, James."

"Good night, Grace."


	3. Girls vs Boys

The warm water kept me suspended. The current was pulling me down, deeper into the sunlight-filled world.

I had been underwater for well over a minute, but I wasn't drowning. I could feel a light pressure in my skull, but there an indefinable peace, a sense of relaxation in knowing that I was going to be alright.

Another minute passed. I swam over the surface of the floor, stirring up sand and startling several dart-like fish. I could feel the urge to breathe more insistent now. I blinked, my eyes unburned by the salt water, and dove deeper.

There was a huge explosion of silver bubbles beside me. James had jumped in from a black rock jutting out of the ocean. He swam toward me with fierce determination, his eyes narrowed against the burning water. He grabbed me around the chest and pulled me to the surface.

We emerged, coughing and spluttering. James hauled me to the nearby shore, his sodden clothes dripping noisily onto the sand.

"What the devil were you thinking?!" James snapped, coughing, rubbing his streaming eyes. "You were down there for almost _three_ minutes! I thought you were dead!"

I was still half-sitting, half-lying on the sand, listening to the crash of the waves behind me. I shut my eyes, the faint buzzing in my head clearing. Because of an unexpected storm, he had been delayed going out to sea with his father. He was due to leave today, when the tide was going out.

"You are possibly the worst girl I've ever met." James went on savagely. "What if I hadn't been here? You would have been dead!"

"James," I said pointedly, "shut up."

James' mouth dropped open. Then pride surged forward and he let loose a stream of words, including how foolish I was and how I was too much like my father. He mentioned his upbringing versus mine. When he broached the idea that men were smarter than women, I stood up and started to walk away.

"Don't you turn your back on me, Grace Fisher!" James called roughly. "I'm not finished with you yet!"

"Oh, yes you are." I snapped, so angry I could taste metal in my mouth. Tears filled my eyes, not because I was sad but purely because my anger was literally overflowing from my body. "I had a dream last night, and I needed to see if it was more than just a dream."

James threw up his hands, so much like Admiral Lawrence Norrington that it was almost comical. "Oh, really? Then please, enlighten me so that I might understand how your twisted little mind works."

I punched his arm. James let out a grunt of pain. "What was _that_ for?"

"For being a stupid pigheaded brat!" I retorted. I folded my arms across my chest. "Every night for the past week, I've dreamt about swimming under the water for minutes and hours and never needing to breathe. I wanted to see if it was possible."

"You… you dreamt…" James made a face, trying and failing to understand my logic. "You just _thought_ you could swim underwater indefinitely? You're a human, Grace, not a mermaid!"

"Oh, for the Queen's sake." I muttered. "I also dreamt that there was an opal ring down there in the sand. I was trying to find it."

James pinched the bridge of his nose. "You are incorrigible, Grace. A true Fisher."

I glared at him. "I don't know what you're implying of my family, Mr. Norrington, but I assure you, I'm not stupid."

"I didn't say you were." James shot back. "But you sure lack common sense."

I hit him again. James didn't push back but tried to disentangle himself from me. Panting, I gave up trying to beat him and stalked away. I wiped away more tears.

"Admit it!" James shouted after me. "You're going to miss me! You're just angry that I'm leaving and you're stuck here!"

"You are a horrible, spoiled, puffed-up _scoundrel_ , James Norrington!" I yelled back, voice cracking. Even though I didn't want to give him the satisfaction, he was right. I _was_ going to miss him. It was bad enough that Father was gone most of the time out to sea, vulnerable to any gale or storm or pirate ship. Now James was leaving me too.

James didn't follow me. Instead of going home, I wandered into the village, still sopping wet, and meandered among the merchants and their products. Several ignored me simply because I was a child. Some slaves, either with or without their masters, gave me cursory looks as I passed by. I was the only redhead in Saint de Lune, and I never not noticed because of it. I tugged at the wet tendrils self-consciously as I passed by the different offerings. One merchant was hawking his shoes at customers while another was haggling a man for a sack of flour for a small brown goat. The cacophony of noise was making my head hurt. I passed by another small wooden booth, hung with beautiful scarves and jewelry that bespoke of a different culture. An ancient-looking old lady with sun-browned skin and white hair covered in a purple shawl peered at me. She wouldn't look away. Chewing my lip, I wished James had accompanied me and started to move away.

"Come here, child." The old woman rasped. "Let me look at you better."

Nervous but wanting to be polite, I obeyed. I approached the booth with trepidation. It smelled like sage and cinnamon. The old woman leaned closer, her chair squeaking with age. Her dark eyes were sharp and clear, a sharp contrast to her wrinkled skin and snow-white hair.

She reached out and examined a lock of my hair. Quickly, before I could do anything about it, she snipped off a tiny lock and held it in her palm. Before I could protest, she dropped it into a small clay pot of bubbling pink liquid and peered into it. She drew back sharply as it turned sky-blue. I looked at her, filled with fear.

This woman was a witch.

"You are not what you seem, half-breed." She said quietly. Her dark eyes widened. "Your father is returning in fifteen days' time. He is to blame. He is to blame!"

I drew back, filled with rising panic. This woman was scary. "I have to go."

The old woman rose shakily, pointing a bony finger at me. "Go back to where you came, demon! Go back! Do not curse our lands with your evil!"

Stung, I turned and hurried away from the booth. I could still hear the old woman calling out to me in rage and conviction. I ran until I was at the docks, watching the sailors loading their warship, _The Spanish Galleon_ , loaded with dozens of cannons. Its vast white sails rippled and snapped in the salty breeze. This was Admiral Norrington's ship, the one they would be departing on later in the day.

My racing heart was slowing. I took in deep lungfuls of sea air, sitting on a wooden crate near the edge of the jetty. It was only a demented old lady. She had merely been trying to scare me, or in the throes of a brain seizure. Her accusations were no more founded than James' claims about how men were superior to women. But no matter how many times I shut my eyes to clear my mind of her face, I couldn't rid myself of those piercing black eyes, shining with righteous anger and conviction. Whatever she had said, she had truly believed it.

I shuddered in the warm late spring air.

I listened to the sounds of the men loading the ship for awhile, the white gulls crying out for food. I knew a cloud of them would follow the ship out to sea, as gulls always did, especially with the fishermen. One swooped down and stole a sailor's hunk of bread from his hand. The sailor cursed roundly and bent down to pick up a stone. He hurled it at the thieving bird, missing it by inches. The gull arced away gracefully.

The sound of clomping hooves brought my attention back to the road. A black carriage borne by two magnificent stallions was rolling towards the docks. They halted. The driver climbed down and opened the door. Admiral Norrington and his son stepped out. James had changed in the hour we had been apart and had his hair groomed, most likely by his fussing mother. I bit my lip and watched, wondering if they would notice me.

They didn't.

James and his father walked up the steep wooden plank that connected the ship to the dock. Already, several sailors were checking the thick ropes that moored the great ship to the land. The sun was hovering in the center of the sky. There weren't any clouds, not even a wisp. They would have perfect sailing conditions.

I watched for another hour as the crew loaded the ship and made final preparations to cast off. Several villagers had gathered and waved handkerchiefs in farewell and good luck. The crew untied the ropes and unrolled the remainder of the sails. The great ship caught the favorable wind and began cruising out of port.

I stood on the edge of the jetty, straining to spot James. He was near the top of the ship, standing beside his father, looking proud and excited. His gaze caught mine. I lifted my hand and waved.

James smiled once and saluted. The ship turned once around a great black cliff and then coasted out into open ocean.

I watched the ship go. I waited until it was a small black speck on the horizon, until I couldn't see it at all as it disappeared on the sea. It wasn't until then that I left the dock and returned home, praying that they would come back.

* * *

 _The Spanish Galleon_ was gone for two weeks. On the seventh day, it returned to port, carrying with it a sense of shame and defeat.

"Good _Lord_." A man beside me said in disbelief. "Is that _The Spanish Galleon_?"

The grand ship was battered. Huge holes were torn into the sails. Several chunks were gaping open on the sides of the wooden ship. The grim crew quickly tied up and began to disembark.

The crowd jostled forward, pushing me out of the way. I nearly fell in and was caught by a deft hand. A woman with a tight bonnet gave me a disapproving look and walked away. Even though she had spared me from falling twenty feet into the rocky harbor, she didn't look happy about it.

"Admiral Norrington!" Several male voices chorused. "Admiral! Where are the pirate captives?"

The noise grew into a loud cacophony of sound. I shut my eyes, wincing. Admiral Norrington looked hardened and grim. He snapped his fingers and his first mate came hurrying after him.

"To the house," I saw him mouth. I frowned, my heart beginning to pound in fear. _Where was James?_

Admiral Norrington climbed aboard an offered horse, his first mate following suit. He left without his son.

Panicking now, I pushed my way through the loud throng and up onto the plank. Dirty-faced, impatient crew members grumbled and growled at me as I scurried aboard the ship.

I gaped at the damage.

One of the masts had cracked clean in half. Scorch-marks and sword cuts marred the ship's deck. Ominous red stains splattered the dark wood. I could feel my gorge rising in my throat and backed away fearfully.

"Get out of here, girl!" A male voice ordered. "Don't you know it's bad luck to have a lady aboard a ship?"

A man with thick black sideburns glared down at me. He took a swig from his flask. His dark eyes flashed warningly.

"I'm not a lady." I said stoutly, straightening my back and meeting his gaze squarely. "I'm a _girl_."

"Girls turn into ladies!" The man growled. "Off the ship or I'll have you tossed overboard, lassie."

I didn't back down from his threat. "I'll tell Admiral Norrington."

A flicker of fear passed through his dark eyes. "Aye, I reckon he won't be taking his son out to sea again anytime soon." He said cryptically.

"Master Gibbs!" A familiar voice said harshly. I turned, relief flooding through me.

"James!" I sighed. "Thank Heavens! I thought-"

But James silenced me with a dark look. He looked down at Mr. Gibbs, even though he was two feet shorter.

"You will respect a lady's presence, however ill-merited." James ordered Mr. Gibbs, with an air of a much older man. "And I will be informing Father of your continued drinking on his ship."

Mr. Gibbs grimaced. "Too much like your old man, boy. Aye, you get this lady off of the ship and I won't tell him you've talked back to a crew member."

James didn't flinch. "The last time I checked, Mr. Gibbs, it was I and not you who was chosen to become the next master of the ship. Now move on."

Mr. Gibbs looked like he wanted to challenge the boy, but he instead muttered expletives and moved away to a different part of the ship. I watched him go, disgusted.

"Don't mind him." James said swiftly, not meeting my eyes. "He's a tough one to reign in, that one. Thinks he's a walking encyclopedia."

I studied his face intently. His green eyes, which had shone with excitement about the prospect of his first voyage to sea to apprehend pirates, were now dull and glassy-looking, like marbles. He looked utterly forlorn.

"James," I said quietly. "What happened?"

James set his jaw in a hard line. It was hard to believe he was only eight years old by how grim he looked. "We were attacked."

I gasped. "I thought your father had captured them easily."

"We thought so too." James said darkly. "Somehow they all escaped the brig. There was a huge, ugly fight. Both sides lost men." He closed his eyes briefly. "I've never seen so much blood."

I hugged him. "But you're alright."

James shook me off. "I was such a fool! I embarrassed my father. I embarrassed my country." He looked away in shame.

Distressed, I appealed to him. "What could you have possibly done? James?"

James opened his eyes miserably. "I came out of Dad's quarters to help. But I only got in the way. One of our own knocked me into the sea in the fight. I thought I was going to die. But then one of the pirates jumped after me and saved me. A pirate _saved_ me." He bowed his head, clearly unable to go on.

I looked at him, helpless. "But you're alive."

"I should have drowned!" James lamented. "Now, my father is so ashamed that his son was rescued by a pirate that he won't even look at me. Like it was my fault that I fell overboard in the first place!"

I watched him for a moment. Tears had collected in his eyes and he wiped them away before they could fall.

"I think you were very brave to help your father." I said after a moment. "I would have hidden."

James laughed once without any trace of humor. "I doubt that. You would be in the middle of the fray, fighting your way through, tooth and nail." He gave me a sardonic smile. "You're far braver than I am. And you can swim."

"So can you." I said, defensive of him.

"The waves were so turbulent. I couldn't. I would be at the bottom of the Atlantic if it hadn't been for pirates." His eyes shadowed and then widened. He looked down at me in fear. "Don't tell _anyone,_ Grace Fisher. Swear it to me."

I frowned. "Tell them what? That a pirate rescued you?"

"Hush!" James begged desperately. "Please! I can't bear the humiliation."

I paused, looking at his agonized face. This would be the ultimate payback. How much laughter would be had at James' expense at school if I told our classmates about his failure? He would never be able to mock me or poke fun again.

But how wrong that would be, too. James, as difficult as he could be, was my dearest friend. I couldn't betray his trust like that.

"I promise." I vowed solemnly. "You have my word, James."

James looked immensely relieved. "Good. Then I shall never speak of it again."

We made our way down the gangplank. It felt so good to have him back at my side that I didn't even mind he hadn't given me a welcome hug. Then I paused once we were past the crowd still gathered at the dock.

"James?" I said tentatively. "One last question."

"Oh, dear." James sighed. "Fine. You have _one_ question about the incident, and that is all. I never want to talk about it again. Understood?"

I nodded vigorously. "Just tell me… which pirate saved you? Blackbeard? Davey Jones?"

The two most fearsome pirates to ever rule the sea. But James shook his head.

"No, no… it was the Captain of _The Misty Lady_. Captain Teague Sparrow."

* * *

"Grace! Grace, wake up! Your father is back!"

I moaned from my cocoon of blankets. Blinking in the early morning light, I saw my aunt bustling around, holding a small lantern in her hand. Mary groaned and pulled her pillow over her head.

"Oh, be hushed." Her mother said crossly. "You should be awake doing your chores, young lady."

"It's Saturday." Mary mumbled back. "My day of rest."

Aunt Angela swatted her daughter lightly on the leg. "Sunday is the day of rest, child. Both of you, up."

It was just after dawn, the sunlight peeking through the thin curtains hanging over our single window. Mary and I roused. Grogginess was quickly replaced with excitement.

 _Father is home!_

"His ship is on the horizon." Aunt Angela said as I pulled on my clothing. "Still a few hours off, from the looks of it. Go run along and finish up your chores so you can have the rest of the day with him."

Gleeful, I did as she asked and hastened to complete my chores. The ocean, which had always been outside of my window, now beckoned to my eye constantly. I couldn't help from looking outside and finding Father's speck of a ship. It loomed closer with every glance.

I could hardly contain my excitement.

When chores were done, I tried to head outside, but Aunt Angela grabbed me back.

"And where do you think you're going?" She asked, sounding amused.

I gave her a pleading look. "Down to the docks to see Papa!"

Aunt Angela shook her head. "Not until you look presentable. Come, child. You need a bath and you'll look your best for Edward."

I struggled. "Oh, please, Aunt Angela!"

But she was firm. "The sooner you cooperate, the sooner you may go. Come along."

I allowed her to bathe me in the cast iron tub with warm toted water in the kitchen. I grumbled all the while.

"I can wash myself." I muttered mutinously. "A quick jump in the ocean and I would be fine."

"Hush, child." She said, humming to herself as she combed out my long strawberry blonde hair. She rubbed lavender oil on my skin, a precious commodity we saved for special occasions. When she was satisfied with how clean I was, she dabbed me off with a heavy towel and dressed me clothes I normally wore to church. I tried to hold still as she worked the front of my hair into two pieces and began to braid them at the back of my head.

"Oh, Aunt Angela, it feels just like Christmas!" I gushed happily as she finished the simple braid and started working on the laces to the back of my dress. "I can't believe he's finally coming home again!"

"Yes, it's going to be _very_ exciting with your father back and all," said Aunt Angela, though she sounded faintly annoyed as she mentioned my father. "Oh, child, hold still! Your father will arrive any moment!"

But I couldn't. I was too full of excitement and energy. I hopped off of the stool she had me standing on and rushed to the long mirror near the hearth. I tugged on my hair, now long enough to touch my mid-back.

"I wonder if I look like my mother." I said brightly, wondering if that was whom I could thank for my blue eyes and red hair, so unlike my father's brunette complexion and brown eyes.

"She loved you," Aunt Angela insisted. "And your Father loves you too. Just be that little angel I know's in there somewhere."

I grinned shamelessly at her. "I shouldn't burp at the table then and give myself away."

Aunt Angela laughed, trying to finish tying up the last of my laces. "Oh, you look lovely… child, hold _still_!"

But I had moved away again. Someone was knocking at the door. Filled with hope, I rushed to open it.

James stood there, dressed in a blue tunic. He blinked several times when he saw me.

"Hi, James." I said breathlessly. "I was just about to go off to the docks and wait for Papa!"

James' mouth dropped open. I frowned. "What? What's the matter?"

James covered his mouth, failing to suppress laughter.

" _What_?" I demanded.

"You look like a _girl_!" James choked out, laughing without restraint now.

I felt angry heat rise to my cheeks. "That's what I am, half-wit!"

"Yeah," James agreed, "but today, you look it!"

I took a threatening step forward. "Boy or girl, I can still beat you!"

James continued to laugh. Aunt Angela was fussing over my hair. I surged forward at James, to her cry of displeasure.

"Oh, _Grace_!" She moaned. "Your Father will be arriving in port any minute. Really!"

But I was now in full pursuit of James, who was running half-heartedly, laughing. I chased him all the way down to the beach. He drew a small sword and turned to face me. He tossed a second at me. I snatched it up.

"Ready to face me?" James taunted, holding his sword expertly. "Father's had me trained since I was five."

"Well, my Uncle's given me the proper instruction since I was _four_!" I shot back, thrusting at him.

James parried back. We clashed back and forth, him laughing, me furious, until I slipped on a long piece of slimy seaweed and fell back into the water.

"Oh, dear!" James chortled. "Looks like all of your aunt's work has gone to waste."

"Yeah," I said, clenching my hand around wet sand, "and so has your mum's!"

I threw the wet, muddy sand at him with all my strength.

James' laughter turned to shock as the muddy sand left a satisfying _slap_ on brown across his new tunic. He gaped down in horror.

"Ha!" I crowed. "Who's a girl now?"

James bent down and grasped a handful of low-tide muck. He splattered my clothes and hair with it from five feet away. I retaliated. It went on for another few minutes until we were both covered in brown.

"I win!" James panted, exhausted from the constant hurling. "I had… the last… shot!"

I rose to my feet. I wiped the muck from my eyes and picked up a final handful. It was clay-like and smelled like sewage. James backed away, hands up.

"No, Grace, don't!" He warned.

I grinned. "I win."

I let it drop on top of his head.

"Look!" James said suddenly, the goo dripping down over his face. He was so brown it was impossible to see any of his skin or clothing. He pointed a muck-caked hand toward the dock. "Your father's ship!"

I followed his direction. Sure enough, the black ship had indeed docked.

For the first time in months, Papa was home.


	4. The Witch of Saint de Lune

The black ship was already moored to the dock when I skidded to a stop. Dirty, greasy men unloaded cargo. Some were simple boxes, filled with fragrant spices. Others were full of fabrics and silk. Perfumes, grain, and precious gems. The majority were barrels of wine or beer and sacks of dry goods like flour and sugar. The crew quickly handed their cargo over to dockworkers, who hastened to load it to the merchants who had paid for the shipment.

I scanned the faces of the men for any sign of the one that had fathered me. I spotted him after a moment, striding down the boardwalk like he owned the ship.

"Papa!" I screamed, shooting forward like a bullet toward him.

My father's mischievous face split into a wide grin. He caught me up in his arms, laughing joyously.

"Oho, look at you!" He cried proudly, grinning up at me. "My goodness, you look just like how I left you!"

I realized I was covered in mud-like wet sand. I laughed. "No, sir! I shot at James!"

"You shot…?" Papa broke off, looking behind me. James had plodded forward silently, looking extremely humiliated.

"Oho, so you did!" Papa set me down on my feet, kneeling to be at my height. He had grown a brown beard in his time away, his wild bright brown eyes shining like they always did when he was at sea. "You've grown, little one. Before you know it, you'll be old enough to marry."

I made a face. "To whom?"

Papa laughed. "Why not James Norrington?"

I made a retching noise. "No, sir! I can't marry him."

"And why not?" Papa said, the light dancing in his eyes. "Because he comes from money?"

"Because he's my friend. That would be far too gross."

Papa laughed and swung me onto his shoulders, not even caring that I was filthy. He strode down the dock toward Aunt Angela's house. My aunt was waiting on the porch. Her face turned white as she caught sight of us.

"Good Heavens!" she gasped as she saw me. "I _just_ cleaned you, Grace Fisher! What have you done to your clothes?"

"Ah, I'll buy her a fresh wardrobe later in town, Ang," Papa said smoothly as he waltzed over and eased me back onto my own feet. He embraced his sister, who drew back after a moment and gazed into his face.

"It's good to have you home, Edward," Aunt Angela said quietly, her eyes filled with tears.

Papa smiled wistfully. "My home is on the sea, Angela. You know that."

Angela glanced at me. "Why don't you go get cleaned up, darling? You can swim down on the beach. Here." She gave me a simple pale blue tunic to wear. "Bring your dirty clothes back to me when you're finished. You can wash them later."

"Yes, ma'am," I said, wanting to give Papa another hug, but not wanting to soil his clothes. Besides, I could tell that Aunt Angela wanted to have words with her brother, words I wasn't to hear.

"Run along now, child," Aunt Angela urged as Mary emerged. Her face brightened. "Uncle Ed!"

"Mary!" Papa gasped. "Is that _you_? What have you been feeding these children, Angela?"

Mary looked pleased. "I'm almost nine years old."

"Next month!" Papa said. I felt a twinge of jealousy. He was _my_ father, not hers. He should have been devoting his attention to me, not Mary.

But Mary skipped to me. "Shall I go with you to the water?"

"Yes, please," Aunt Angela answered for me. "Run along, girls. Lunch will be ready at noontime."

"But that's so far away!" I complained.

Aunt Angela gave me a look. "If you're hungry, you may have a snack when you return. Now go."

"Yes, Mum," Mary said obediently, tugging me away. I let her, unwilling. I didn't want to depart Papa's presence, not after only just getting him home.

"Your father's a wild horse of a man." Mary said once we'd walked on the sand.

"What does that mean?" I asked indignantly as I stripped off the soiled clothes and waded into the cool Atlantic water.

Mary sat with her toes wedged deep into the yellow sand. "I overheard Father saying it once. I guess, well… isn't it a bit odd? How often Uncle Ed is away?"

I frowned. "Papa works on a merchant ship. Of course he would away at sea often. It's his job."

Mary didn't look convinced. "I suppose."

I scrubbed at my skin until it was pink and clean. I felt so much calmer in the water than I did on land. I thought about the opal ring I had dreamt about nearly a month prior, and wondered if it would bother Mary if I searched for it now.

"Do you want to see how long I can hold my breath underwater?" I asked her spontaneously. Mary looked intrigued.

"James Norrington says you can go three minutes." She said.

I nodded. "I bet I can go even longer."

Mary looked nervous, but curiosity won her over. "Show me. Prove it."

I took several sharp, shallow breaths, then one final, deep pull on the air. Then I dove.

I opened my eyes to the world underneath the waves. It was clear and inviting. I swam down to the edge of a jutting black rock, admiring the snake-like zigzag pattern of the sand, shaped by the constant push-and-pull of the tides. I sifted through the pale sand. A large purple starfish with a single orange dot was stuck to the side of the rock. I dug underneath it, picturing it as an X-marks-the-spot, like in one of James' bedtime stories.

My hand scraped against something hard.

Excitement quickly turned to disappointment when I pulled up a small granite rock. I tossed it away irritably and kept digging. The sand drifted up in lazy underwater clouds, but my vision remained clear. I felt the familiar light buzzing in my brain again, but it was dull and not enough to persuade me to resurface. Not yet.

I unearthed another few boring rocks and an offended flounder. Then something small and black caught my eye.

I picked up another rock, but this one was different. It had a strange, fish or bug shaped imprint on one side.

I felt the urge to breathe air. I kicked off from the sand and burst through the surface. I inhaled the sweet air deeply, vaguely bothered by the fact that I hadn't found the ring again.

"Grace! Oh, thank Heaven!"

I glanced over. Several feet away, Mary was on her feet, looking terrified. She was twisting her wrists. "I thought you had drowned!"

I grinned. "I was digging for buried treasure!"

Mary looked annoyed. "You are just like Uncle Ed."

I laughed and swam back over with my prize. I tossed it to her. "Take a look at it."

Mary did. She frowned. "It's… some kind of imprint."

"I think there's a word for it." I said. "I'm going to show it to James. Maybe his tutor knows."

Mary wrinkled his nose. "Honestly, I don't understand why you bother with that arrogant pig. He thinks he's the prince of the whole town."

"He does not." I defended him. "He's a good friend."

Mary didn't look convinced. "He's spoiled."

"He's well-off." I shot back. "He's lucky to have so much prosperity."

Mary looked disgruntled. "Well, all I am suggesting is that if someone has that much money, then they should spend it on the needy and less fortunate, not on themselves."

I understood Mary's frustration. We had grown up and lived in poverty. But even though there were some hardships and few possessions, we lived a simple, humble, relatively happy life. It was uncomplicated by politics or prestige. We didn't just survive; we lived. I had always had a warm bed to sleep in, clothes on my back, food in my stomach. We were lucky.

Others weren't.

Slaves were sometimes treated well. Homeless vagrants and vagabonds who drifted through our town on a boat or on the road sometimes stayed. Most left if they didn't want to look for work. A few stayed and lived in doorframes of pubs or under raggety tents made of discarded fabric. Those ones usually died within a year, during the first real bite of winter, if they hadn't pickled their livers with alcohol already.

We had family, shelter, and love. We were lucky.

The Norringtons were divinely favored.

Mary and I walked the short distance home. Saint de Lune was a small town, but it was a hub for commercial trade. It wasn't far from Liverpool, the biggest seaport in the country. I could see many white-sailed ships drifting across the ocean any given day, but especially now, as the crop harvests began to come to fruition. Mary and I counted twenty on the horizon, not including Papa's docked vessel, by the time we arrived back at the house.

Papa and Aunt Angela were having tea and sharing a plate of crumpets. I placed my dirty clothes in a tin bucket, letting them soak in cold water before I'd wring them out and scrub them against a washboard. Papa smiled brilliantly and swung me up into his strong arms.

"I was worried you'd turned into a fish." He said, setting me down on the softest chair. It was a wooden one with a cushion. I beamed up at me, delighted to be the center of his attention.

"Tell me about your adventures out at sea." I pleaded, pleating the hem of my tunic.

Aunt Angela smiled, but it didn't quite reach her eyes. "Maybe later, popkin. Your father was just explaining to me his next voyage."

I frowned. "But you just got back!"

Papa patted my hand. "Yes, I know, love. But I've got to work. I need to be able to provide for you. I have a job, and I need to keep it."

I searched his face, so unlike my own. He did provide, by bringing back a sackful of money for my caretakers, which gave me clothes on my back, food in my stomach, a roof over my head. But he was forgetting the most important thing he could provide.

"Your job is stay." I said quietly.

An uncomfortable silence settled around the table. A cricket chirped nearby. Papa looked sad.

"My job is to give you chances that I never had." Papa said gently, taking my hand into his. They were so much larger, rougher from his work. Mine were tiny and fragile. I looked up at him, the forbidden question popping out of my mouth before I could stop them.

"What happened to my mother?"

Aunt Angela clanged her teacup back onto its saucer. "Grace Fisher!" She said sternly.

A shadow crossed Papa's face. He swallowed hard and looked away. "She passed away. She died giving birth to you."

I felt a small implosion in my stomach. Grief. Guilt. So it _was_ my fault that she was gone.

"I'm sorry." I said. "I'm sorry I took her from you, Papa."

Papa looked at me fiercely, tipping my chin up so he could look directly into my eyes. "Don't ever be sorry for being my child, Grace. You were the one thing I did right in the world. You are my greatest joy. Do not ever let anyone else tell you otherwise."

I blinked away tears. His passionate words inflamed my spirit, burning away the remorse and pain.

"Some old witch called me a half-breed." I confessed, averting my gaze. "In the marketplace."

Aunt Angela inhaled sharply. "You went into the square unsupervised?" Her voice was filled with disappointment.

"I was on my way to see James off." I protested. "It was the quickest way. I promise, I didn't steal anything."

"Of course you didn't." Papa said reassuringly, rubbing my wrist. His callouses brushed against my soft skin. "What else did she say?"

I shrugged, wanting to forget the entire experience. "She was very angry with me."

Papa straightened. "I would like to go into the market, Angela. Fancy anything? I can haggle for some coffee."

Aunt Angela raised her brows. "Is that all you plan on doing there?"

Papa winked. "I may bring back a seahag."

I clapped my hand over my mouth. Aunt Angela rolled her eyes. "Really, Edward. I don't allow such sailor talk in my house."

Papa kissed her cheek. "I apologize, Sister. I forget my place."

Aunt Angela waved him off, but she was half-smiling. I rose and hurried after Papa. Aunt Angela looked concerned. "Grace, dear, why don't you stay here and-"

"She'll be perfectly safe with me, Angela," Papa said briskly, taking my hand and leading me out of the door. "We'll be back soon enough."

Aunt Angela bit her lip but didn't argue. I let Papa swing my hand back and forth like a pendulum, like one in the grandfather clocks I'd seen in the Norrington Manor. We walked down the dirt road leading into the heart of Saint de Lune, and I listened to Papa's tales of his adventures out at sea. He mentioned several storms that had blown them off course, talked about massive fish they'd seen swimming underneath their ship, spoke about meeting various people from many different lifestyles in the Caribbean Sea.

"Our next voyage will be down to Cape Horn." He said as we entered the bustling marketplace.

I stopped. We had learned about geography not long ago in the schoolhouse. "That's at the bottom of the world."

Papa smiled wistfully. "It'll be a long voyage, but it's one that I must take. I'll return within a year."

I couldn't help it; my jaw dropped open. " _What_?"

Papa squeezed my hand. "It will go quickly. You'll have your family here and the Norringtons." He smiled strangely as he mentioned James' family; it didn't quite reach his eyes.

"Why don't you like the Norringtons?" I asked shrewdly, hoping to convince him to take a shorter voyage. "They're really nice!"

Papa looked away into the booths. "It doesn't matter what I think of them, darling. Now come on, let's go look for that old witch. I'd like to talk to her about scaring my child."

It didn't take long to find her. She was seated at the same booth in the same chair, wearing a multi-colored scarf today with strands of green and blue and black woven together. She squinted beadily at us as we approached.

Papa drew himself up to his fullest height, an intimidating 6'4. "Excuse me, madam. Could I have a word?"

The old lady was silent. She glared at us as if we were roaches in her store.

"Perhaps she doesn't speak English." Papa said after a moment, noticing the exotic merchandise she sold.

I shook my head. "She spoke it very clearly, Papa."

"Alright." Papa let go of my hand and leaned forward, splaying his large hands on the wooden counter separating us from her. "Listen up, you. I don't appreciate old hags speaking to my child the way you did a few weeks ago. Apologize to her, or I'll burn down your shop around your ears."

My eyes widened. Papa was fiercely protective, but he wasn't violent. But there was something about his posture and tone that made me believe him. "Papa…"

But he ignored me. The old lady blinked once, her black eyes bottomless and utterly empty.

"Got it, witch?" He growled. "I'll take your silence as an apology. Don't come near my child again or I'll feed you to the sharks."

He pulled back, glowering down at her. I looked between Papa and the old lady. He seemed satisfied with her passive demeanor and took my head. "Let's go find something to eat, shall we?"

"You have brought a death sentence upon us."

The voice was reedy, raspy, and thin. But most of all, it was filled with venomous hatred. Papa halted. I looked up at him, in fear for the old lady. Why hadn't she just stayed quiet?

"Excuse me?" Papa said quietly, turning around very slowly to face her.

The woman was breathing heavily, her chest heaving. She raised a bony finger and pointed it at me. "You will be punished for bringing that monster upon our shores. _The one with the power to relinquish evil's hold on the seven seas will be born at the end of June. She will have the power over land and sea. She will walk between two worlds. Upon her head will be flames, her eyes, the power of the sea. Her stolen presence will be dealt with at the ruthlessness of the God of the Sea. She will bring doom to the lands she is brought to. Throw her back into the sea, back into the depths from which she came, lest the unrightful rule of the Seven Seas brings his fury upon those she taints those with! Behold, unless she is brought back to the King of the Seas, the land will perish in fire and water, and we will all become what we dread most… the one with the power to relinquish evil's hold on the seven seas will be born at the end of June…"_

Her voice had risen to a horrible scream, an accusation flung straight at me. I stood, paralyzed with horror, the hair on the back of my neck rising, shaking. The woman's eyes rolled back into her head, gutteral moans and foreign words tumbled from her mouth like lava.

Papa had leapt over the barrier and seized her by the shoulders, shaking her hard. "Shut up! Snap out of it, witch! Come out of your trance!"

He shook her harder. I gasped, afraid for him and for her. Several shoppers had come over, pushing me out of the way in their haste to stop my father from killing her. It took several men to pry him away. The old woman was screaming, clutching at her scarves, her shrill shouts piercing my very heart.

A man in black robes - a priest - hurried forward. He pressed his palm against the woman's head, muttering in Latin. He pressed a cross against her with his other hand. "In the name of God, come out of her, demon!" The priest insisted, his voice becoming harder and louder. "COME OUT, DEMON! BE GONE, IN THE NAME OF THE LORD!"

The old woman let out a final horrid cry, and then dropped like a fallen tree at the men's feet. She was hauled into her chair, smelling salts applied. The priest continued to pray over her.

"Wake up, wake up." I muttered, afraid for her. If she had been possessed, it wasn't her fault for spewing demonic words.

At long last, the woman's eyes fluttered open. Papa was standing not far away, blocked by several large men, his eyes narrowed in unspent fury. The old lady moaned and placed a hand to her forehead faintly. "Oh… oh… _ohhhh_ …"

The priest sighed in relief. "You are set free from the grasp of Hell, my lady. You are free."

Papa shook his fist angrily. "She deserves to die! She's unclean. She's evil."

"No!" I cried, shaking my head. "No, don't kill her!"

"Kill her!" Another man chanted. "Burn the witch!"

"No!" The priest shouted over the din. "She has been set free!"

The divided crowd began to argue louder. Papa was on the side of the ones hellbent on execution. I clamped my hands over my ears, trying to drown out the awful sound.

The sound of a gunshot made me jerk my hands away. The crowd went silent, every eye trained on the origin of the sound. Admiral Norrington lowered his smoking gun, sitting on his magnificent white stallion.

"What is the meaning of this?" Admiral Norrington asked calmly, his voice full of authority.

Papa's face darkened in anger. "This isn't your business, Norrington. Move along."

There was a bubble of commotion at Papa's hostile words. I blinked, confused. Why hadn't Papa addressed James' father using his title?

Admiral Norrington surveyed Papa coolly. "Don't be so quick to jump to violence, Edward." He looked over at the wan face of the old woman, who was now clutching the hand of a woman who was praying over a rosary. "What has this woman done?"

"She's a witch!" A man next to Papa yelled. "She's frightened this child for demonic reasons. She should be burned before her evil spreads and festers!"

"She has been purified!" The priest said loudly, looking alarmed. "Sir, I beg you; help these men see reason."

Admiral Norrington wasn't the mayor, but he was a well-respected public figure who had spent many years involved with the British Navy. Authoritative reasoning emanated from him.

"Take the woman to the church." Admiral Norrington instructed. He raised a brow at Papa's outraged expression. "Anyone who follows will be taken to the prison until they've calmed down."

I hadn't noticed them gather, but several soldiers, armed with bayonets, were standing at the ready. Papa's face flushed dark red with anger. His rage was clearly felt by others, who booed and hissed at the old woman was led away by the priest. Sanctuary was rarely deserved, but untouchable once it was granted.

The old woman glanced my way as she passed. I expected to feel a thrill of fear, but all I felt was pity. If she really had been possessed, it wasn't her fault that she had said those strange, evil things to me.

Right?

I rubbed my arms, chilled, even though the air was warm and the sunshine plentiful. I watched the old woman being led away and swallowed up by the procession of soldiers. I caught Admiral Norrington's eyes. He gave a tiny nod of acknowledgment, before steering his steed around and bringing up the rear of the escort.

Papa made his way over to me. He looked angry, but forced a small smile. He bent down so that we were eye-level. "Are you alright, Grace?"

I gave a tremulous nod. Papa sighed and smoothed my hair back behind my ears.

"I'm sorry, love," he muttered. "there's some people in this world that aren't meant to be here."

"What if it wasn't her fault?" I asked quietly, swallowing against the dryness in my throat. "What if there really was a demon?"

Papa gazed deeply into my face. His bright brown eyes were the exact same shade as Angela, Nathan, Samuel, and Mary. Mine were the opposite. I reached up and touched a lock of light red hair nervously. I shared so little with him.

"There is no such thing." Papa said urgently. "Do you understand? No such thing as mermaids, dragons, demons, fairies… it's all a lie. All we have is right now." He pulled me into his arms suddenly, scaring me and pleasing me all at once. "I love you, Grace. Nothing can ever change that. Understand, love?"

I didn't understand his urgency, but I knew it would be best to make him believe everything was okay. Even if I didn't understand. So I nodded convincingly into his neck.

Papa pulled back, smiling oddly. "Good girl. Now, let's go and return to the house, eh? Your Aunt will be making bread and salmon."

"Alright, Papa." I said amicably, unwilling to stir up any more trouble. I let him lead me back to the house where I had grown up, where everything was normal.

I couldn't stop thinking about the old woman's words. What had she meant? Was it just coincidence that I was born at the end of June? Or that my hair was red? My eyes blue?

Papa spent the night in the main room by the fire. He snored loudly, a sign that he wouldn't soon awaken. I crept past him when the moon was higher than my window, careful not to let the door clang behind me. When I was past the front lamppost, I ran as fast as I could to the Norrington Manor.

It took nearly fifteen minutes, but once there, I picked up a small pebble and threw it against James' window on the second floor. I threw another one after a pause. The pebble bounced off the glass. I prepared to throw a third one when the pane opened. James poked his head out, brown hair sticking out wildly in all directions.

"James!" I whispered hoarsely. " _James_!"

James frowned. "What?"

I waved. "Come down."

James grunted drowsily. "Alright, just a moment." He disappeared for a minute. Then the front doors opened. He carefully closed them behind him. I pulled him over to the edge of the property underneath a large oak tree anchored in by its roots near the edge of a formidable cliff. I ripped at the grass in the silvery light of the moon. James yawned several times.

"What is it?" He asked on his tenth yawn. "What's the matter?"

I told him everything. From the morning with Papa to the old woman's nightmarish outburst to dinner. "He says he's leaving in three days." I finished sullenly. "For a year."

James said nothing at first. Then he cleared his throat. "Father told me. About the old woman."

I snapped my head up. "And?"

James sighed. "They're going to execute her tomorrow. At sunset."

I shook my head. "How horrible."

James grimaced. "Better a dead witch than a live one."

I knew James had parroted it from his father, but the words coming out of his mouth still grated against what Aunt Angela and the priest had taught me: mercy for my enemies. Forgiving those who trespassed against us.

"I feel sorry for her." I admitted, twisting up more grass. "She was possessed, wasn't she?"

James grunted. "Even more reason to weed out evil."  
I shook my head. "I wish I could be as judgmental as you are, James."

James frowned, looking slightly offended. "I have to be quick with my decisions, if I want to be an Admiral someday."

I shrugged. Then I blurted, "Do you think I'm adopted?"

James, adding fuel to my fear, didn't say anything. He merely looked at me.

"Do you?" He asked me after a long pause.

I pleated the hem to my tunic. It had been a thought that had tormented me for years, even if I kept it suppressed. "No… yes. No. I'm not sure."

James scratched his arm. "I don't think a man who wasn't your father would defend you the way he did today. Do you?"

I watched the waves reflecting in the light of the moon. It stretched out endlessly, all the way to the New World. "No, you're right."

"It's normal to miss your mother, I think." James added thoughtfully. "Many women die in childbirth."

I sighed. "I suppose you're right, James." I sat with him in comfortable silence for awhile, listening to the distant crash and wash of the waves below the cliff. I looked at the harbor, the boats moored in place, gently bobbing in the waves.

Then another boat caught my attention. It was large one, black, with a white belt around the middle. Tall white sails caught the night wind, bringing it into port. There were no flags declaring its allegiance or nationality waving in the breeze.

James suddenly went very still. Then he sprang to his feet.

"James!" I called out. "Where are you going? What's the matter?"

James was breathing very hard. "That ship… those sails… you see the torn one, right there?"

I followed his finger, but didn't see. His trained eyes were much sharper than mine. "No?"

James swore. He started to run back to the huge house.

"Wait! James!" I scrambled to my feet. "What's wrong? What's the matter?"

James threw a furious look over his shoulder. "That's _The Misty Lady_! That ship is the one that attacked my father's!"


	5. Rock the Cradle

I scrambled to my feet. I chased after James, but he was quicker than I was, and the moment he entered the house he started hollering for Admiral Norrington. "Father! Father! There's pirates in the harbor! _Father_!"

I pursued James up the winding staircase, skidding to a halt outside of his parent's room. Admiral Norrington was already out of bed, shrugging on his jacket and grabbing for his sword. Katherine Norrington was awake as well, her dainty hand clapped over her mouth in fear.

"Are you sure, Son?" Admiral Norrington asked James urgently. "You are absolutely certain?"

"It's _The Misty Lady_." James confirmed breathlessly. "It's the pirate ship."

Admiral Norrington wasted no time. He jerked his head toward his wife. "Katherine, stay here. Barricade yourself inside. Keep Grace with you."

"No!" I shrieked. "I need to get back to my family!"

"You're no good to them dead!" Admiral Norrington shot back, his tone so fierce that quick tears sprang to my eyes. He hurried out into the hall, calling for his butler to sound the alarm.

A moment later, there was a loud bell tolling overhead; the butler had ascended the steps to the belfry of the house and was ringing the huge copper bell. I watched from the window as lights came on in houses down below the hill in the village; the ship was fast approaching the port. I could see small black figures, like ants, jumping from the ship and running into the village.

They were pirates.

White-hot fear gripped me by the throat; I stumbled back, unable to breathe. Katherine Norrington let out a shrill scream. Admiral Norrington and James had already charged down the stairs.

"Stay here, boy!" Admiral Norrington yelled to his son. "I don't want you in the fray again until you're older!"

"I won't fail like last time, Father!" James said loudly. "Please, let me accompany you!"

"No, Son!" Admiral Norrington commanded. "That's an order! Stay and guard your mother and Grace."

James looked mutinous, but he obeyed his father. He turned at the foyer of the manor and charged up the stairs as his father rode away on a magnificent horse. Katherine was trying to compose herself. I stared out the window numb with shock.

 _Pirates_. Here. In Saint de Lune.

"Get inside, now." James ordered, ushering us inside of the master bedroom. But all I could think about was Papa.

"He's down there without me." I whispered. "What if he's killed?"

"He can handle himself." James said brusquely. He was taking his father's order very seriously. He pushed a chair against the door handles, barring it from anyone entering. Katherine paced around and around nervously. She went to her bureau and took out a dagger and held it shakily with both hands. I looked at her, wide-eyed. James wielded a sword.

"I want one." I said, looking between them.

"A lady has no business holding a weapon." Katherine said in a quavering voice, even though she held a dagger in her trembling hands.

I stamped my foot. "I am not a lady yet! Give me something sharp to defend myself with! I will not die without a fight!"

James gave me a long, measured look. Then he reached behind a bookshelf and withdrew another sword. It was dusty and the hilt had cobwebs, but the blade was still sharp. I gripped it tightly, fear and the will to live pulsating through me like fire.

A loud _boom_ broke the tense silence. Katherine gasped. James' mouth set into a grim line.

"The cannons." He said quietly. A moment later, another bass note of _boom_ answered the first one.

I hurried to the window. Every window was lit down in the village, tiny squares of golden light breaking up the dark violet of night. Torches borne by pirates and soldiers burned brightly. Cannons were fired from the fort and from the ship.

"Get away from there." James said sharply. I ignored him, pressing my face against the glass. My breath fogged the pane, making it hard to see.

James pulled me away. I spun to face him, outraged. "I'm trying to see!"

James wrenched the curtains over the window. "I don't want them to know we're here!"

I rolled my eyes. "Do you really think they can see us? We're nearly a mile from where they are!"

"Children, be hushed!" Katherine cried. "Silence!"

We obeyed her. James gave me a curt nod and paced back and forth. My palms were slick with sweat. All I could think of was my family, down there, at the mercy of the pirates…

I shut my eyes. I didn't want to think about what could happen.

The distant gunfire and _booms_ of the cannons continued, making the house shudder with each shot fired. The windows rattled, making Katherine flinch. James peeked through the curtains every minute or so. After the twentieth, he let out a startled gasp. I was immediately at his side.

"What?" I demanded. "What's happened?"

James swallowed. "They're... leaving."

Sure enough, the black ship was departing the port. It moved at a fast clip. Cannons continued to fire after them, but the ship was too quick. It was out of port, then heading clear out to sea. A second ship was in hot pursuit.

"Father's going after them." James said darkly. "He'll never catch up. Our ship outguns almost any in the country, but theirs is faster."

I threw the chair away from the door. "Grace!" Katherine Norrington cried, but I ignored her and pelted down the stairs. I could hear the old witch's words ringing in my ears. _She will doom to the lands she is brought to…_

"Grace! Stop!" James shouted, giving chase. But I wasn't going to stop now. I had to be sure that my family was safe. Make sure that Papa was alright.

I had made it halfway down the hill when the sound of hoofbeats caught my attention. James had ridden to me on his gray palomino. He brought the beast to a stop. It pawed the ground anxiously. James reached down to help me up. I allowed him to help hoist me onto the horse's back and held onto him as we galloped down the road and into the village.

The scent of gunpowder and smoke filled the air as we neared the houses. People were yelling in panic, trying to gather their bearings. Soldiers in crimson coats were shouting orders to civilians and each other. I could see Admiral Norrington's ship gliding after the pirate's vessel, but it was clear it wasn't going to catch up.

James' horse cantered through the streets. He was heading straight for my house. Most of the buildings that flashed by were unharmed. Only a few showed signs of impact from the heavy cannonballs. Black scorch marks and splintered wood flashed by as we rode on. The attack had been quick and not meant to cause damage.

So what had they come for?

I let out an enormous sigh of relief when we arrived at my house. It was untouched. Aunt Angela ran from the inside, weeping with relief.

"Oh, thank Heaven you're safe!" She cried. "You were missing! You were gone!"

"She's alright." James said matter-of-factly, sounding very much like his father, in nine-year-old miniature. Aunt Angela helped me down and then shook me roughly. "Don't ever scare me like that again, young lady! Do you understand?"

I searched her face. "Where's Uncle John?"

She sighed. "He and your two cousins went off to defend the town. Mary's inside."

She left out Papa's whereabouts. If she thought I wouldn't notice, she was very much mistaken. "Where is Papa?"

Aunt Angela looked up at James. "Your father went after them?"

James nodded. "It would seem that way."

"Where is Papa?" I demanded, my voice rising shrilly, breaking through an octave. "Where is my father?!"

Aunt Angela stared at me, then shut her eyes, anguished. I covered my mouth, horrified. I knew something terrible had happened. I had known it the moment James had run to alert his father.

"Oh, Grace." Aunt Angela said, her voice cracking, tears slipping down her cheeks. "I'm so sorry. Your father was taken prisoner by the pirates."

* * *

It took days for the village to calm down. The small, bustling village of Saint de Lune rarely experienced such a terrifying scandal. Security was tightened tenfold, with sentries put up on every vantage point and soldiers assigned patrols throughout the village. Admiral Norrington's ship had returned to port a day after the pirates attacked, empty-handed.

After Aunt Angela had delivered the news, I would not come back into the house. Only when the cool night drove me to my bed did I return, and only long enough to sleep. I stayed by the water on the beach, staring out onto the horizon, scanning it constantly for any sign of a ship. But only ships with white sails passed by. No more vessels with black ones, like the ship that had taken my father.

After Aunt Angela broke the news, I had tried to process it, but to no avail. Papa wasn't dead… or at least he hadn't been when they had taken him. Aunt Angela said that a gang of pirates broke into the house and threatened them with their lives if Papa wasn't surrendered to them. He volunteered to go willingly. They took him at gunpoint, and brought him down to their ship and left.

I asked her and Uncle John over and over again. _Why did they take Papa?_ He was a simple sailor. He wasn't a prince or an important figure like Admiral Norrington. He didn't have money. But whatever he had, whether it was information or possession, had been valuable enough to steal.

James was ensconced with his father now, deep in combat training. The witch had been executed as scheduled at sunset in the town square the day after the attacks. Remarkably, she had been the only death in the village for the past month. No one had been killed when the pirates had arrived on our shores.

I leapt to my feet as I spotted a black smudge on the horizon. My brief hope flickered and died when the smudge revealed itself to be a blackbird, a big one, gliding through the warm air currents. I kicked at the wet sand angrily, tears burning in my eyes. It wasn't fair. First my mother, then my father. Both taken from me from forces I couldn't control. I wanted to weep, to scream, but what good would either of those things do? All that mattered was getting Papa back. And there was only one way to guarantee that.

I got up from the beach and brushed off the sand that clung to my tunic. I walked into town, making headway for the church made up of smooth gray stones. I pushed open the thick wooden doors, greeted by the smell of incense and mustiness. Red candles burned near the front doors, the tiny flames flickering in the wind. The door sighed shut behind me. I padded up to the front pew and kneeled before sliding into the wooden bench. I leaned my forehead against the wooden back and closed my eyes.

 _God, it's me. I don't know why you let the pirates take Papa, but please, keep him safe. Thank you for keeping the rest of my family safe, and the Norringtons. Please, please don't let Papa die. Bring him home. Thank you God._

 _Also, keep my mother safe. I know she's with You._

Someone settled into the space beside me. I looked up into the weary face of the priest.

"Hello, Grace," he said kindly.

I bowed my head in respect. "Father."

The word brought tears to my eyes. The old priest brushed them away softly. "You are safe in the Lord's arms, dear child."

I wiped my eyes, still running over. "Why did He let those pirates take him? God already took my mother home. Why did he need my Papa too?"

The priest nodded gently and brushed my hair back behind my ears, like Papa did. "Sometimes, we don't always understand God's plan for our lives. But we must trust that it always works out for His goodwill, and ours."

I looked up into the rafters of the church, where dusty daylight filtered through. "I don't understand." I confessed at last. "Is that a sin?"

The priest was quiet for a moment. Then he closed his hand gently over mine. "God is the Father to the fatherless, and the motherless." He withdrew a small silver crucifix from his pocket. He gently looped it around my neck. It was warm. "May this remind you of the Lord's promise to you."

The priest patted my hand gently and said a quiet prayer in Latin. Then he stood up and went to the front of the church to bless the holy water.

I watched him for a moment, touching the crucifix on my sternum. God would protect Papa. He would.

I left the church, blinking in the harsh sunlight. Soldiers marched dutifully past in the streets, rifles held snug against their chests. The gallows stood in the center of the village, an ominous reminder of the shortness of life. I walked away from it quickly, passing the old woman's booth on my way. It was now occupied by a younger woman, who shared the same dark skin and dark eyes. Perhaps she was related to the now-dead old lady. She watched me go as I passed by. I pretended I couldn't see her.

The old woman was gone. Papa was taken. How could things possibly get any worse?

I meandered up the hill aimlessly, pondering Papa's fate constantly, unable to break the cycle. All I knew about pirates was that they were thieves, pillagers, violent men, who left nothing but destruction and chaos in their wake. Why had they taken him? When would he return?

 _If_ he'd ever return…

Months passed. Summer cooled into fall. School resumed once the fields had been picked clean and harvested. I spent one autumn day with James, learning how to better use a sword in case the pirates ever came back.

James parried my thrust, Admiral Norrington pacing around us. We were in their courtyard, located behind the grand walls of the manor. "Careful, Grace. Don't cut off his finger."

James blocked another thrust. The metal clanged against my blade harshly, ringing through the air. He lowered his sword and gave me a definitive look.

"You're too angry." He said after a moment. I took up a stance, daring him to strike again. "Try me." I taunted.

James looked tempted, but shook his head. "I won't. Calm down and try again."

I slashed wildly at him. James leapt back, blocking the attack. His eyes widened as I narrowly missed cutting off part of his tunic.

"Never strike in anger." Admiral Norrington said swiftly. He had caught the blade between two gloved hands. He gave me a look through dark eyes. I stared back, wide-eyed. I dropped the sword and kicked angrily at a hapless pebble.

"Grace," Admiral Norrington admonished.

Tears burned in my eyes. I was so angry, so frustrated. Maybe if I'd known how to fight like this months ago, I could have stopped Papa from being taken.

"Perhaps that's enough for today." He said in resignation. He signaled to a servant, who hurried forward and took the sword. He offered Admiral Norrington a cup of steaming tea. James accepted a second. The servant approached me, but I waved him off.

"What's bothering you?" James asked quietly, joining me at the fountain, which bubbled up clear water. I put my hand to the force of water, wishing I could disappear into it like mist.

"I miss him." I said simply. "I wish there was more I could have done."

James pursed his lips and didn't say anything. Instead, he slipped his hand into mine carefully and squeezed it once. I leaned against his solid warmth gratefully. No matter how often we fought or disagreed, our friendship always remained. I thanked God that James had not been taken from me. Not yet.

It was nightfall when I returned home. The scent of roasting meat and baking bread made my hollow stomach cramp with hunger. I hadn't eaten anything since my sparring match with James, which invigorated my appetite to the point of mouth watering. Aunt Angela, normally ready to scold me for being late, instead wiped her hands on her apron and gave me a sad look. "Grace."

I looked up at her, silhouetted against the lamplight. There was something she wanted to tell me, but she didn't look happy about it.

"Aunt Angela?" I said uneasily, sensing something was wrong.

She let out a gusty sigh and waved me inside. "Come. Let's get you fed and then we'll have tea."

Aunt Angela only invited me to have tea with her when she wanted to discuss something serious, usually unpleasant to boot. I swallowed hard and followed her inside. My cousins and Uncle John were already seated at the table. No one looked up at me as I entered and eased down into a chair.

Uncle John blessed the food and passed around the plates of sliced beef and unleavened bread. The air was tense, crackling like lightning, and I had no idea why. We ate in silence. Papa's absence, usually so nominal, now left a gaping chasm, because of the manner in which he had departed. But there was something more, something more sinister and agitated. I glanced around the table, wondering who would break the silence.

Finally, someone snapped. Nathan slammed down his cup, sloshing water on the table. "Dad, we need to tell her."

Uncle John carefully set down his goblet of wine. A muscle jerked in his cheek. "No, son."

Nathan's face slowly flushed. "I'm tired of pretending that he's something he is not. I'm tired of the deception. We have to tell her! Now!"

"Nathan!" Uncle John said warningly, voice rising. "Enough."

I looked between them wildly. Mary had her head down. Aunt Angela had tears in her eyes.

"What?" I said, terrified of what I might hear.

"Grace," Nathan said slowly, turning to look at me with dark eyes.

"I said _no!_ " Uncle John snapped. He pushed his chair back, scraping it roughly against the wooden floor. "Nathan, leave."

Nathan shook his head vehemently. " _No,_ Dad. I'm sorry, but she has to know!"

Aunt Angela put her face in her hands and wept. I looked at the three of them in alarm.

Uncle John got up and moved toward his eldest son. He tried to take him by the arm, but Nathan jerked away roughly and smacked his hand down on the table. "I don't think she ought to feel guilt or grief for Uncle Ed! I don't want to give her false hope that he's coming back!"

"Why not?" I asked shrilly. "Because you think he's not my father?"

A stunned silence fell across the table. A muscle kept jerking in Uncle John's cheek. Nathan gazed at me wordlessly.

"How long have you suspected?" Uncle John said at last, his voice strained. I felt the implosion of shock in my stomach. I hadn't expected them to feed into it. I had always hoped that I was just being foolish, being a worry-wart. But no.

Maybe it had been there, in the back of my mind.

"Awhile." I said quietly, strangely numb now. I gazed at Aunt Angela, who was wiping at her leaking eyes. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"He _is_ your father." Aunt Angela said stubbornly. Nathan swore. Uncle John grasped him by the collar of his tunic.

"One more word like that under my roof and you can go find a new place to live." He gritted out, releasing him.

I swallowed hard. "Which is it?"

Uncle John let out a gusty sigh. I could every line in his face, making him look weary and world-worn. "Your father… _Edward_ …. found you on the beach when you were a baby. You were very young, not even a month old. He brought you home to us and told us you were his child."

"But he can't prove it." Nathan shot back.

Aunt Angela shook her head ruefully. "She has his features! Look, she has his chin and nose, and those ears are just like his when he was younger. And she's always had his fire and spunk!"

"He found me on the beach." I echoed blankly.

"We were going to tell you when you were older." Aunt Angela said, her voice quavering. "You weren't supposed to know until you were an adult. We wanted to give you a normal, stable childhood."

I shook my head, trying to clear it of the slow buzzing growing in my ears. "But… I don't…"

"If he really loved you as a father, he wouldn't have left with those pirates." Nathan said bitterly. I stared at him, the blood draining from my face. "Did you say… _left_ with them?"

Nathan raised his chin a notch. "That's right. Your father wasn't kidnapped. He wasn't taken by force. He left willingly with those pirates. And you know why? It's because he _is_ one. That's right, Grace. Your father, our uncle… he's a _pirate_."

Complete silence followed his harsh words. The fire crackled once in the stillness, hissing and snapping. I stared at Nathan's hard face, growing dizzier by the second.

I pushed away suddenly from the table and went out into the night. Aunt Angela tried calling for me, Samuel chased after me, but I was too fast. I ran, tears blinding me, everything I thought I had believed now gone in a stunning revelation.

 _What if Papa isn't really my father? What if they're right?_

But he was so protective of me. He _loved_ me. But he had told me my mother had died in childbirth. How could I believe him now when he had lied to me about the very beginning?

Papa… a _pirate._ It couldn't be true. It couldn't be.

I was down at the beach, listening to the crash of the waves. The cold autumn air chilled me through my clothes, but I would rather have frozen to death than return to the house after what I'd heard. I could hear my family calling my name, calling for me.

But what if they weren't even my family anymore?

The thought made me feel sicker than before. I pushed my way through the undergrowth and avoided smacking into trees. I didn't stop until I found a small cave looking out onto the water, gleaming in the moonlight. Shivering, I found two smooth sticks and began twisting and rubbing them together. It took awhile, but the action gave the illusion that I was occupied, and faint tendrils of smoke rose from the the sticks after several minutes of work. I dropped to my knees and added a tuft of dried grass, blowing on it gently. The smoke thickened and then caught fire. I added more dry tinder to the small flame until it became a hungry blaze. I built it up with dry logs lying nearby, pushed ashore long ago by the tide. I sat near the warm orange flames, warming my hands and breathing in the rich aroma of smoked wood and sea tang.

It explained so much. Papa wasn't just a sailor… he was a pirate. But it couldn't be. I sat still, gazing into the fire, adding more logs every now and then when the flames burned low, going over everything in my mind. I was trying to win an argument against myself. Was Papa really what he said they were, or was he what I'd always him believed him to be?

An hour or so later, a shape rustled nearby in the darkness. I looked up blankly as James Norrington pushed his way through the undergrowth. Just behind him was Samuel.

I looked away from their faces as they sat down on the sand, gazing into the fire. It was quiet again for a long time. An owl hooted nearby. A second answered it.

Then Samuel spoke. "We didn't want you to find out that way. That was wrong of Nathan."

I merely looked at him. When I didn't reply, he went on, slowly, carefully, like he was picking his way through uncharted forest.

"Your father really is my uncle." Samuel said, and I could see it in his face, the same hair and eyes, the same ruddy handsomeness. "He's my mother's brother."

"I know that." I said quietly, drawing my knees up to my chest. James watched me silently. It was impossible to read his face. He had schooled it blank, a look I'd seen on Admiral Norrington's face several times.

"I was young when Uncle Ed brought you home." Samuel said in a low voice, adding another log to the fire. It crackled in response. "Very young, but I remember it. He said he needed Mum to take care of you. He said it was his responsibility to make sure you were safe."

I listened, unsure of how much would come tumbling from my mouth if I opened it again. Samuel seemed to understand this and kept going.

"As you got older, it became clear that you were probably his child. Mum said you were rambunctious and wild like Uncle Ed was as a youth. And despite what Nathan says, you do share some physical features.

"We never knew who your mother was. Maybe Uncle Ed told Aunt Angela and Uncle John more than what he told us, but what Nathan, Mary, and I know is that your mother probably isn't alive. We do, for certain, know Uncle Ed was never a merchant sailor. He left home at seventeen on the ocean and returned a few times. Admiral Norrington-"

"My father did nothing wrong." James interrupted, speaking for the first time. He was only nine years old, but the intensity of his gaze gave him the air of someone much older and with much more authority. Samuel closed his mouth, looking somber.

"What happened between our fathers?" I asked James directly. "Why are they always at odds?"

James turned his gaze onto me. I didn't back down, returning the stare squarely.

"Your father is a pirate." James said simply. "My father is an Admiral. That's all there is to know."

But there was something else, something he was withholding from me.

"James," I started to say, but he shook his head, closing the subject. I burned with frustration.

"The point, Grace," Samuel resumed gently, "is that you _are_ our family. Nathan is nearing manhood and he grows restless. I suppose this was part of his bid for freedom. He wants you to know things you weren't meant to understand just yet. I'm sorry you found out this way."

I picked up a lean stick from the ground and hovered it over the flames until the tip turned black and began to smolder. "Does this mean I'm a pirate?"

A smile twitched on James' lips. "No. You're still just Grace."

Samuel cleared his throat. "We've known he was a pirate for a long time. Our family just decided it was best not for you to know." He reached over and patted my small knee. "This doesn't change anything, Grace."

I blinked, then turned my attention back to the fire. The end of the stick was glowing red. Parts of it fell into the flames, charred flakes of wood burned beyond recognition. I listened to the crash of the waves, the gentle stirring of the chilly wind as it blew crumpled autumn leaves around.

 _No,_ I thought quietly as I let the stick burn to ashes, _it changes everything._


	6. A Long Walk to London

_four years later..._

"James Lawrence Norrington!"

I could hear Father's stern voice coming down the hall as I was finishing the last knot. I had roped together several bedsheets, lashed them onto one of the poles on my four-poster bed, and was checking the security when I heard my father bang his fist against the door.

"James, open this door at once!"

I could hear Mother pleading with him. "For Heaven's sake, Lawrence! Can't this wait until morning?"

"If I can't sleep, neither shall he!" Father snapped. He rapped hard again. "James! This is your last warning!"

Ignoring him, I tested the strength of the rope a final time, before swinging myself out the window and sliding down the three-story drop. I landed easily and ran straight for the stables. Alexander, my gray palomino, whinnied in recognition as I saddled him up and mounted. I was galloping out of the stables and down the hill before anyone could pursue me.

The twilight air was cool and helped dissolve my pounding anger. Alexander was a strong and trained horse and carried me swiftly down the road and into the countryside. Though the familiar tang of the sea was inviting, it was the last place I wanted to be right now.

Alexander rode out deep into the fields, his mighty hooves thundering over the dirt road. I eased on the reigns and wheeled him around, satisfied to see we were well away from the village of Saint de Lune. It glowed and flickered in the distance, tiny spots of yellow light breaking the gathering darkness. Just being away from the congestion of people helped my troubled mind clear.

Alexander snorted and tossed his head. I couldn't bear to look out upon the sea. Not when I couldn't see the other side. Clenching my jaw, I let the horse rest for a moment and then directed him into a nearby copse. A bubbling brook wound through the small grove nearby. I watered the horse and found a small clearing. Away from the road and potential robbers, I tethered Alexander to a low-hanging branch and started a fire. I built it up quickly and gathered edible mushrooms and an unfortunate squirrel I threw my dagger at and roasted them over the blaze. I dragged my hand through my hair after I'd eaten, the anger and frustration building inside of me like a thunderstorm.

 _How could he_? I thought furiously, seeing my father's pleased expression as he broke the news. _How could he possibly think of this as a good thing?_

It was early summer. The mosquitoes were whining near my ears, a far cry of comfort from my cool and plush quarters back at the manor. But tonight I was too riled up to be under the same roof as my father.

But I also couldn't remain here. Not with these maddening bugs.

I kicked out the fire and climbed back on Alexander. The nearly full moon illuminated the road clearly. I made headway for the shimmering lights of Saint de Lune, which became gradually larger as I returned to civilization. I felt a pang of disappointment that I'd returned unscathed. If a robber had tried to attack me, I would have been glad for the fight. It would have meant releasing some of this pent-up animosity and frustration.

I followed the familiar path down to the Fisher's house. It was small, much smaller than the house I lived in. The roof was shingled with brown wooden slats, the walls recently repainted white. Faint smoke furled out from the red-bricked chimney. I dismounted Alexander and tied him to the fence. I went around the back of the house to Grace's bedroom window, tapping once, three times, twice. A moment later, I heard the tell-tale rustling noise that meant Grace had heard our signal. I went around to the front of the house. The front door opened and closed silently. Grace hurried down the steps and over to Alexander. I helped her up and felt her arms slid around my waist, ready for a gallop. I dug my heels into Alexander's sides. The horse took off again down the street. I guided the animal up a hill, opposite the one I lived on, and didn't stop until we reached a cleared ledge. It offered a magnificent view of the seaport town and the bay. I re-tied the horse to a log and dismounted. I helped Grace down and let her embrace me.

"James," she said breathlessly, her blue eyes wide and pale in the moonlight, "what's the matter? You're never this tense."

I strode away from her, unable to tell her the news that had been given to me only hours before. I wished I had thought of better things to say. I wish I was more prepared to end our lives as we knew them.

"James?" She said uncertainly.

I looked back at her. She was watching my every move, unease filling her oval face. Why was I just _now_ noticing how beautiful she had become? Now, when we had so little time left?

"I'm alright, Grace." I said grimly. "I hope I didn't wake you."

She shrugged. "That hasn't stopped you before." She smoothed out her simple white-and-blue tunic, which was fraying at the ends. Her strawberry-blonde tresses were partially braided back, revealing her lovely face. It was a popular and customary hairstyle for her social class. It was so unlike the elegant piled bun that Mother so often wore.

In the years since her father's departure, Grace had changed. She had become more serious, more devoted, more attached to those she loved. She had even forgiven Nathan, her cousin, for telling her the truth when it was forbidden for him to do so. It was just as well, since the boy had died of fever just six months later, after a foreign ship carried a rampant disease into town that killed twenty others.

She always wore a silver crucifix on a simple chain, given to her by the old priest who had tried to save her from a witch who was hanged for her devilry anyway. Grace hadn't lost her passionate spirit nor her rare proclivity to speak her mind, but she had indeed lost much.

What would happen when I delivered the news to her?

Grace offered me a tremulous smile. She had very good teeth for someone living in her economic circle. "You look very much like your father." She said teasingly.

The thought of the man made my hands curl into fists. I pursed my lips and revolved on the spot, gazing out bleakly across the sea.

 _I'm doing this for_ you, _Son_. Father had said fiercely at dinner, before I had left the table for my bedchamber. _For your future, and ours._

He hadn't even asked.

"I had aspired to better things." I said bitterly. Grace raised her brows.

"Did you have a row?" She hedged, picking a wild raspberry off of a bush growing nearby and popping it in her mouth.

After my dinner of squirrel and wild mushrooms, I had no appetite for berries. "We had a disagreement."

Grace plucked several more berries and ate them. Her aunt and uncle had taken her out of the schoolhouse when she was eleven. _She was needed to work, not learn_ , they'd reasoned. My parents had protested and insisted upon giving her at least a partial education. By trading some of the Fisher's products, like eggs, swords, vegetables, Grace had been able to receive lessons from my tutors four times a week at my house. My mother had reasoned that a partially-educated English lady was better than none at all.

"James, you're being much more melancholy than usual." Grace observed keenly. "Would you please just spit out what's the matter?"

But I didn't want to. Because I knew it would hurt her more deeply than anything since her father's departure. It was already hurting me in more ways than I wanted to admit. "I've been accepted into the British Royal Navy."

Grace clapped her hand to her mouth. " _James!"_ She cried. "Oh, that's so wonderful!" She rushed over and embraced me tightly, squeezing my ribs. Her flowery, sea-spray scent wreathed around me. I realized I was blushing as she pulled away and gazed into my face. Her eyes were brimming with delight. Delight for _me_.

I waited for the boom to fall.

"I'll need to train." I went on carefully, waiting for the dawn of realization to appear in her excited blue eyes. "Father and Mother said we must relocate to London, to the university. After I graduate, I will be trained as an officer in the Royal Navy on the seas."

Grace's smile flickered, then died. Her eyes widened. "You mean… you're leaving? You're leaving Saint de Lune?"

I searched her face pleadingly. "There's no way out of it, Grace."

I wanted to throw a punch at my father when I saw her heart break. Her eyes filled with tears. She bit her lips together, face crumpling. I reached for her, but she backed away, one of her arms wrapped around her stomach, the other clamped over her face.

"When?" She finally managed, her voice cracking.

I hated myself for having the dream to follow in my father's footsteps, for wanting to become an Admiral myself. "The day after tomorrow."

Grace wobbled on her feet. I hurried to her side and helped her sit down on a rock. She leaned against me, trembling. I put an arm around her, suddenly feeling like weeping myself. My whole life had been spent here in Saint de Lune, from the time I was two years old. We had relocated here after Father had requested transfer away from London. He wanted to raise me in a quiet, safe, rural environment. And now he wanted me to go back.

"You can come with us." I offered, smiling in spite of myself. I felt her laugh once softly.

"I can't, James." She said sadly. "I have to take care of my family."

I felt my heart twist. We weren't blood, but she _was_ family. Even Mother said so. Father didn't, but his actions confirmed it. "We could get married and run away together."

Grace laughed out loud this time, smiling in spite of her tears. "We're too young to be married. Besides, James, haven't you always thought of me as a gross _girl_?"

I wiped my knuckles against her cheeks, to dispel the tears. Her eyes widened, cheeks blooming with color. It was a strangely intimate action, and I felt a protectiveness for her surge into me.

"Please," I said hoarsely, struggling with the depth of my emotion, "come with us. We've always been together. There's so much to do in London. It won't be the same, but I must go. I have to."

Grace made a noise of agreement. "What am I going to do without you, James?"

Without warning, she broke. She put her face into her hands and cried. Not soft, dignified tears like I'd seen Mother shed. These were deep, heart-wrenching sobs from the soul, and it made my own heart twist and cry out. I held her in my arms, rocking her like how my Mother had soothed me when I was a young boy.

When the storm subsided, she sniffled once. "Are you coming back to Saint de Lune?"

Her voice was thin and nasally, as if she had a bad head cold. I squeezed her gently. "I'm not sure. Someday, I hope."

She sagged against me, defeated. "I don't know what I'll do without you, James." She said again.

I gazed out over the vast expanse of water. After I graduated at the Camden Naval Academy for Boys in London, I would board a ship under the British Royal Navy and head out to sea. Only after my Captain deemed me ready would I be promoted to lieutenant. And then, if my plan went accordingly, I would become a captain myself. Commodore. And, finally, Admiral.

But my dream would cost the only real friend I had ever had.

"I'll come back to visit." I promised her, but I knew that the next time I sailed into Saint de Lune would most likely not happen until after I was made lieutenant. That itself would take ten years or so. I didn't tell her this.

Grace sighed, slightly mollified. "How far is London?"

"Over 250 miles."

Grace stilled. "Oh."

I wanted to kidnap her, take her with me to London. But I couldn't. Her home was here, just like her family. Maybe if I was lucky, when she was old enough, she would come to London on her own. Or she would still be here when I returned to visit.

And still want to see me.

"We can write letters." Grace suggested hopefully. I nodded in approval. That was something I could guarantee.

"There's something else." I said, drawing back slightly. "We've decided to pay the tutor to continue your education. Until you're a fully-fledged English lady."

Grace made a face. "Me? A proper English lady?" She smirked. "I think I have too much pirate blood in my veins."

I couldn't share her amusement. Even though her father was a pirate, it didn't excuse him. The one thing Edward Fisher had done right - creating Grace - didn't wash away his years of bad choices and his lifestyle. If the man was still alive, there was no doubt in my mind that he had continued to be a practicing pirate. If he was ever caught, Father had vowed to give him a fair trial. And a fair trial for a pirate ended in a hanging.

I would never tell Grace this.

She leaned back against me. Her warm, soft weight made me realize just how much we had grown up. We were thirteen, nearing adulthood with each passing day. I didn't want to think of how much different would be if we had never become friends, if we'd never met.

Grace sat up and unclasped her silver crucifix. She put it in my pocket. When I looked at her in question, she smiled and said, "to keep you safe. I don't want any pirates harming you while you're out on those seas."

I hadn't realized how much I'd depended on her for stability and humility. She made me grateful for what I had, but also taught me how to appreciate the small things in life. The Fishers were poor, but never hesitated to give a blanket or jacket to a homeless vagrant or tithe ten percent of their meager savings every Sunday. Angela Fisher went out into the streets and fed the hungry and spoke to the widows and those who had lost children, counseling them. Even the children did their part. Grace had always carried distress about the old woman's death, citing the demonic presence, not the old witch herself, as the source of evil. The Fishers were a stark contrast to the other wealthy families, who frequently attended church on Sunday dressed in their finest attire and dined on exotic delicacies, but never looked twice at an orphan child hungry in the streets or donated any of their many gold coins to the needy.

I would dearly miss Grace. How dearly, I didn't know. But I could feel the soft stirring of wings of compassion inside me, new and startling.

"I'm tired," Grace said after we'd spoken for hours. Our topics ranged from our past to our futures. She let out a huge yawn, eliciting one from me as well. She smiled and nestled closer. "I never knew how comfortable you were, James Norrington."

I laughed once. "Better late than never, I suppose."

Grace measured her hand against mine. It was smaller and lighter, but I knew it was just a matter of time and there would be a world of difference. A few years on a ship would broaden that contrast. I lowered my hand slightly and relaxed my fingers. Hers melted against mine, slipping through the spaces between my fingers so that our hands were interlocked. I studied them, surprised at the warmth.

"I'll wait for you." Grace said suddenly, her voice determined. "Just promise me you won't run off with some mermaid or rich girl."

Her tone was light now, teasing, but I could sense an undercurrent of meaning. She was serious. I squeezed her hand once. Her bones were small, fragile, like a bird's. "I promise."

The sky was beginning to lighten on the horizon. Dawn was not far away. I brought her back to her small house, dismounting first so that I could help her. Grace smiled as I caught her and eased her down. "You're getting stronger."

I grinned. "I have to be if I'm ever going to catch up to you."

Grace leaned forward and hugged me again. "I'll come see you tomorrow."

I held her for a long moment. My eyes were heavy, but my mind was anything but sluggish. "Good night, Grace."

"Good night, James." She separated herself from me and crept quietly back into her house. I watched her go, waiting until the door was completely shut before I set off for the house.

Tomorrow, I would have words with Father.

* * *

The household was asleep when I crept back inside. It was very late, nearly dawn. I didn't bother returning to my bedchambers. Instead, I remained in the kitchen and made coffee. The aroma enticed me with warm fingers. I added cream and took a sip of the bittersweet drink. My head swam with the weight of what was coming and what had happened.

It didn't take long for Father to appear in the kitchen. He froze when he saw me. Perhaps he had expected me not to return.

I met his gaze and took a sip of coffee. Already, the caffeinated drink infused me with temporary strength and purpose.

"You, sir, are restricted to the house until we leave." Father ordered stiffly.

I rolled my eyes. "Or what? You'll have me thrown in the dungeons like some criminal?"

Father pursed his lips and fought for control of his temper. "Do not mock me, boy. I am your father, but I am also Admiral."

I snorted. "You are unbelievable."

Father slammed his hand down on the counter. "And what of you? Did you really think you could spend your life here in this ramshackle fishing town?"

"It's a hub on the trade route." I retorted. "Isn't that part of why you chose it? It's our very own Gibraltar."

Father paced around the kitchen. "We're doing this for your future, Son. Don't you understand? You are to follow in my footsteps and become Admiral one day yourself. I won't always be here to direct your path. This is the best way to achieve your dreams."

I wish I could have argued with him. I wish I could have told him they weren't my dreams, only his. But they _were_ mine. Ever since I was a little boy, I had wanted to be like my father. I wanted to be tall, handsome, well-respected, educated, holding a respected position of leadership and authority. But I hadn't known what the cost would be.

Now, I was beginning to have my first taste of it.

"I know you are going to miss Grace," Father went on. I stared at him, shocked. Had it really been that obvious?

"You two have been peas in a pod since you met." Father said, gazing out of the window in nostalgia. "Katherine and I even believed you two would one day marry."

I felt heat bloom in my face. Once, the idea had repulsed both Grace and I. But now… now I felt something different. I was confused, torn between her familiarity and my new feelings for her. She was the girl I sat up at night thinking about, the one reason I didn't want to leave Saint de Lune.

"There are many fish in the sea, Son." Father went on. "You will meet a much more suitable bride in London."

I glared at him over my cup of hot coffee. "You think Grace isn't a good match?"

"It isn't a smart one." Father admitted. "James, she is in a different social class. It would be a huge scandal to marry a girl like her."

I put my cup down hard enough to rattle the saucer. "You only say this because of who her father is."

Father lifted his chin a notch. "You must think wisely, James. Do not anchor yourself to a girl who will not be able to keep up with you. Can you picture Grace attending balls? Running a household while you are off at sea? Bringing honor to you by bearing sons and raising them to be proper English gentlemen and soldiers? No, Son. Grace is a wild spirit, like her father. She belongs here. If you truly love her, you will let her go and allow her to be happy."

His words cut deeply. I had always pictured my life in sequences, spanning from my education and promotions in the Navy to my golden years. Children. Grandchildren. A comfortable home and a beautiful wife. Growing old with the woman I loved.

How could Father suggest I spend the rest of my life with anyone but the one I'd already shared it with?

"I know this is difficult for you." Father continued. He looked deeply sympathetic. "But this is the path that you must follow. You were born to priviledge, and with that comes specific obligations."

My rebellious spirit was crushed underneath the weight of his words. They were calculated and heavy with truth and clarity. But I could never forget Grace.

"Let her go, Son." Father said quietly, coming to stand in front of me, hands on my shoulders. He looked into my face squarely. "Let her go, so that you can be free to live the best part of your life."

I nodded slowly. I would obey him. "Yes, Father."

Satisfied, he patted my back. "That's a good lad. Now, run along and get some sleep. The servants will be finished packing by tonight. We will leave tomorrow afternoon when the tide goes out."

I laid down in my bed, the same bed I'd shared a few times with Grace long ago when we were small children. My heavy eyes gazed out my window at the breaking dawn. Blood-red and beautiful, it lit up the sky with vibrant color and premonition. I would keep my promise to Grace, and to my father.

"I'll never let go," I vowed as the sun reached my eyes. I would never forget my best friend, no matter what Father wanted. It was the last coherent thought I had before I fell into dreamless sleep.


	7. The Fortune Teller

The tide was high in the morning. I arrived early and sat waiting on the dock, dangling my bare feet in the water, listening to the sound of the gurgling water sucking at the wooden poles and the cry of white gulls soaring overhead. Dawn had just broken; it glowed vibrant red and yellow across the horizon, illuminating the indigo sky.

 _The Spanish Galleon_ floated gently nearby, moored to the dock just for a few more minutes. The crew was ready to leave. The Norringtons still hadn't arrived. I watched as a black dot moved down from the grand manor, winding its way down the hill and into town. The carriage pulled to a stop. Admiral Norrington exited, helping his wife down. Katherine Norrington's dainty gloved hand slipped into her husband's as she looked around one last time at the town of Saint de Lune.

Her eyes connected with mine. I tried to smile back, but it came out as more of a grimace. I couldn't help but wonder if maybe she'd put up more of a fight with her husband, maybe if she'd try to understand where I was coming from, she would have pleaded for Admiral Norrington to reconsider his plans.

But I saw no flicker of regret in her eyes. If anything, she looked ready to return home to London.

Admiral Norrington and his wife approached me. I curtsied, as it was social custom, but Admiral Norrington placed his large hand gently on my shoulder. To my surprise, water stood in his eyes.

"My dear," he said quietly, "you bow to no one, least of all us."

Humbled, I couldn't speak. It was against etiquette and violated the unspoken law between social standings, but I rushed forward and hugged both of them in turn. I could feel the crew watching us, but I didn't care. They boarded the ship and didn't look back.

I heard him before I saw him. The drumbeat of horse hooves vibrated the ground as James rode his horse Alexander into port. He dismounted easily and quickly and handed off the reins to a waiting servant. Without losing pace, he hurried toward me. Mouth trembling, I sprinted toward him, covering the distance with astonishing speed, and flung myself into his arms.

I hadn't noticed it before. But he was almost a head taller than me, and new muscles were sprouting beneath his tunic and rich garments. His strong, familiar arms encircled me and pressed me close, so close that I could hear the strong, steady rhythm of his heart.

His shirt was growing wetter with my tears. After a few painfully short moments, I knew I had to let go. Let James go. Probably forever.

The thought crushed my heart, and I wept into his chest. James' embrace tightened.

"Don't forget about me, alright?" I whispered.

James rubbed my back softly. "I won't."

Finally, he released me. I looked up into his familiar face and wiped away my tears. But more came. James looked ready to cry too. But being the stoic male that he was, I knew he wouldn't let a tear fall in the presence of anyone.

"I'll come back." James promised hoarsely. "I promise."

My heart constricted. "Good-bye, James."

James looked like he wanted to hug me again, but the call of the ship's crew snapped his attention away. "Weigh anchor, boys!" The captain yelled. James gave me one last long look and turned away. He jumped over the widening gap between the ship and the dock and landed easily on the deck. I covered my mouth with one hand, then the other, trying to suppress my rising grief.

I could see James looking back at me, his figure and the ship slowly shrinking as they cruised out. Monkey-like crewmates leapt between the rigging, inflating the huge white sails as they left port. They were heading south, not straying far from the coastline. I ran parallel to the great ship, tears flying backward behind me into my hair. I was almost out of breath as I shot up the second hill across from the Norrington's, up to the familiar ledge where James and I would sit sometimes and watch the village below or the skies above. Out of breath, out of anywhere else to run, I halted, gasping for breath, a stitch in my side burning. I watched the white shape of _The Spanish Galleon_ turn slowly and head out for open sea.

I lifted my hand in farewell, knowing in my heart that I would never see James again. I pretended, long after the speck of white had vanished from view and long after the sun hung low in the sky and turned the clouds pink again, that he could see me there, holding vigil for him. I would never forget him.

How could I, when I was in love with him?

* * *

In the days and weeks that followed James' departure from my life, I found myself much more dedicated to my studies and to my chores than ever before. Papa was gone, and now so was James and his entire family. Nathan was dead. I had never known my mother. Who else would I lose before I myself departed this life?

One day Aunt Angela surprised me during tea, as we were fixing torn hems on clothing. She tutted as she threaded her needle expertly through one of Uncle John's shirts.

"It never would have worked out between you two, dear." She said, after not speaking once of James or his family. No one had, not until then.

I was so surprised that the needle I was working with pricked my finger. I flinched at the spot of rising red blood. Aunt Angela passed me a pad of gauze. I pressed it to the throbbing wound.

"It's better now," she said soothingly, trying to comfort me and only reopening a wound, "you can focus on your own life, now, instead of pretending to be in theirs and ours."

I scowled and didn't say anything. I would never surrender to the hard truth: that James was gone, just as irrevocably as Nathan and Papa were.

No one in our family spoke of the Norringtons again.

A year passed, and then another. Two letters arrived from James, written in his familiar black calligraphy, addressed to me only. I kept both letters underneath my mattress where I would take them out sometimes and read them over and over again until I had both messages memorized. I sent him two back, both containing sketches of Saint de Lune on the backs. He was busy, I knew, because he generally sent just one letter a year.

When I was fifteen, a new Admiral moved into the Norrington's manor. His name was Admiral Ghent and he had three daughters and a wife who reminded me very much of Katherine Norrington. I thought, for a fleeting, hopeful moment, that they could be like the Norringtons. Peaceful, welcoming, fair, and kind.

I was wrong.

The first Sunday after they had arrived by caravan on the road, they attended church. The stone building was packed to the seams, bursting with the faithful who attended every service offered and those who had only come to mingle with the latest arrival of wealth and power.

The three daughters were pretty. One had raven-black hair like her mother. Another had blond. And the last had brown hair like her father's. They looked to be very close in age, and mine.

I approached them hastily after service, after the mother, dressed in her extravagant attire, dropped one of her baubles. It was a rather ugly black ring with a chunky dark green gem embedded in it. As she clambered back into her carriage, I hustled after her. "My lady! Excuse me, my lady!"

The raven-haired woman looked at me. Her face scrunched up, as if seeing a dog squatting on her front lawn. Immediately, I hesitated.

"What." She said flatly, looking disgusted. I had never been more aware of my lowly tunic, my scuffed shoes, my long hair that hadn't been washed in a few days.

Trying to look more hygienic, I wiped my nose in case any dirt remained on it from digging for root vegetables this morning. "You dropped this, my lady." I held out the ring.

The woman let out an insulted gasp. Her daughters glared at me as if I was a roach in their kitchen.

"You little harlot!" She half-screamed. "You little conniving thief! You pilfered that ring from me while I was praying, didn't you? How dare you!"

I could feel the blood drain from my face. Any accusation made from the right mouth could bring instant judgment, even death. My mouth dropped open in horror.

"No, no, my lady!" I gibbered. "You… you dropped this on your way out!"

"Liar!" She shouted. She pointed an accusing finger at me, loaded with another heavy ring. "Giles! Seize her!"

A tall, intimidating man with several missing teeth bared his mouth at me and grabbed for me. I wrenched my arm away and bumped into Mistress Hall.

"What is the meaning of this?" The old teacher squawked. Her vision had deteriorated to the point where she had to squint very hard through her glasses to see more than ten feet in front of her. "What's the matter?"

"That little thief stole my ring and is now trying to win a reward for returning the item!" Mrs. Ghent shouted. By now the entire remaining congregation was goggling at the scene.

"No! I didn't!" I gasped. "I was only trying-"

"Shush!" Mrs. Ghent cried. She was fanning herself vigorously. "Take this heathen away and get her away from me!"

"My dear woman!" The priest said hastily, hurrying forward. He looked very shocked to see such a noble woman so upset. "This girl is a child of God! She would never lie to you. Believe her when she says she is merely returning one of your jewels."

The woman looked furious. She had come out of her carriage again and was bearing down upon me. An ugly vein pulsed in her forehead. I forced myself not to back down, even though my legs were shaking.

"You will return my things to me at once," she said quietly, dropping her voice so that only I could hear, "or I'll have you tried and dealt with as the criminal you are."

I stared at her. Her dark eyes were empty and soulless. Swallowing, I handed back the ring. Mrs. Ghent snatched it and jammed it back on her finger. She stormed back into her carriage. I could feel the gazes of every churchgoer boring into me as I watched the carriage roll away, back towards the Norrington's house.

"You'll need to be very careful around that woman," Uncle John said as he put a hand over my shoulder. I glanced down and saw that in his other hand, he held a barely concealed sword.

"Why?" I asked as the crowd dissipated.

Uncle John let out a long sigh. "Because she knows your father is a pirate. She thinks since you're half-pirate, it makes you as good as one."

"And what's wrong with that?" Mary said stoutly, coming to my defense. "Grace isn't a pirate. She's as much pirate as I am!"

Uncle John smiled wistfully. "I admire your courage, daughter, but in the eyes of the law, anyone convicted of piracy deserves one justice: a hanging in the town gallows."

Instinctively, I touched a hand to my throat. The silver crucifix that had once hung there now resided with James, all the way in London.

"And the law," Uncle John added quietly, as a soldier walked by and gave us a long look, "is in the eyes of the Admiral."

So that was why Papa had been spared. Even though Admiral Norrington had known all along, he had spared Papa. For my sake.

And Admiral Ghent wasn't anything like Admiral Norrington.

* * *

A week after the fiasco at the church, a new ship sailed into port. It was black, with a white strip running all along its sides. It seemed vaguely familiar, but even the name didn't jog my memory. _The Misty Lady_ was painted in gold letters along the side, chipped and battle-scarred.

A gangly crew disembarked with several crates and boxes of goods to trade and sell. They smelled especially foul in my nostrils, permeating the salty tang of the sea air with their noxious body odor. I walked past them on my way to the market, intent on fulfilling Aunt Angela's wishes. She had sent me to trade eggs and goat milk for more fabric. My tunic was threadbare and worn, in desperate need of a replacement.

I had exchanged the eggs and milk when I caught sight of the booth nestled near the edge of the bustling marketplace. It was the same booth where the old woman had spouted her frantic, unholy words at me all those years ago. Now a younger woman who had to be her daughter maintained the booth, always wearing different colorful scarves wrapped around her head. Her dark eyes pierced me now, tracking my every move through the square.

Against my better judgment, I approached her booth. The woman didn't blink or draw back or start screaming at me. Instead she gazed at me beadily, her face unreadable.

"Why are you always watching me?" I asked. "What business do you have with me?"

The woman merely looked at me.

I rolled my eyes and looked away in frustration. "Do you know it's rude to stare at someone? Especially for years and years without end."

The woman blinked once.

"Fine." I said in exasperation, turning to leave. "Have it your way."

"Stop, child."

I paused. I was no longer a frightened child and was determined not to let my trepidation show. I lifted my chin a notch, trying to appear indifferent. "Yes?"

The woman peered closely at me. She wasn't old, but she was young enough to be Katherine Norrington's age. There was an air of mystery about her that drew me.

"Sit. I will read your fortune."

Something inside of me cried against her request. I had been raised in the church and knew that engaging in this sort of activity would invite darkness into my life. But something stronger than that faith overpowered me, and I found myself drawing up a pouf and sitting beside her in the booth. It was cool in the shade and smelled strongly of burning incense.

The woman was deft. She quickly snipped off a lock of my long red hair and dropped it into a clay bowl of water. The water boiled and turned hot pink. Astonished, I let out a soft gasp.

The woman took my palm into hers and flipped it over a few times. She made a quiet noise in her throat. She raised her head and looked squarely into my eyes. I felt a warning prickle on the back of my neck, but her hand held mine tight, anchoring me to the chair.

"You are full of anger, and sorrow." She said slowly. "Your mother is alive."

My heart skipped a beat. "I beg your pardon?"

She traced a finger along my palm, sending a shiver up my arm. "You will marry a man of the sea, but he will be taken from you. A dark force is against you, since birth. You are a great threat to him."

"Who is _him_?" I said sharply, tearing my hand away. "You're talking nonsense. My mother is dead."

The woman's gaze pierced me. "She is alive, as is your father. If you wish to find her, you must first leave this place and never return." Her face shadowed, then her eyes widened until they filled up her face. "You are in grave danger. Someone here wishes to destroy you!"

I had had enough. Furious, frightened, I jumped to my feet and stormed away. I was so angry I didn't notice a teenage boy in front of me until I smacked into him.

"Ouch!" I cursed roundly and rubbed my arm where we had collided. The boy yelped in surprise and looked at me with huge, owlish eyes.

"Oh, sorry, dearie," he said lazily, haphazardly bowing, "I didn't think you'd come barging into me like that."

"That's hardly an apology." I snapped.

The boy made an amused face. "Well, in that case, good day to you." He wove around me and skipped toward the booth I had just left. The woman smiled and let him peck her cheek. He produced a bouquet of flowers from his sleeve and presented them to her gaily. "Mum," he said affectionately.

"Jack Sparrow…" the woman purred, "where have you been off to this time, my sweet?"

I studied the boy more carefully now. Unlike James, who always dressed to the nines, this boy (who had to be around our age) was dressed like a seafaring peasant. His white tunic was belted with a thick leather throng, knee-high black boots snaking up his gangly legs. His shoulder-length black hair was in dreadlocks, and both ears looked pierced enough to be more metal than flesh. A single silver ring glinted on his right index finger.

"Dad's here," Jack went on brightly. I pretended to be interested in a booth filled with eggs and bread, listening intently all the while.

"On the ship, yes?" His mother said. Her accent was even more noticeable than before.

"He's afraid to come ashore, you see," Jack continued, "said something about Admiral Norrington living here. But I'd heard he'd left port years ago."

"Indeed." His mother concurred. "I haven't seen the two of you since three summers ago. Perhaps I will join you on an adventure this time."

"Only if you're up for it, Mum." Jack said lovingly. "You remember what happened last time."

"Oh, it was only a little fire." She said sweetly. "Here, take a new scarf. Red looks best on you, my love. Take one for your father too."

"Come see him yourself." Jack said enthusiastically. "Close up the booth and follow me."

"Excuse me, miss," an aging farmer squawked at me, "if you're going to buy that egg, it'll be one pence."

"Highway robbery." I said in an insulted tone and flashed him a quick grin, before hurrying after Jack and his mother. I stayed a few yards behind so I wouldn't arouse suspicion. I stopped at the dock, watching them walk jovially up the plank and out of sight.

I cursed under my breath. I wouldn't risk boarding a ship unaccompanied. Not yet.

Not until I was forced to.

* * *

It was a few days later, as I was finishing making my new tunic, when there was a knock at my door. Aunt Angela and Mary, who were sewing with me, frowned.

"I wonder who that could be," Mary wondered as she got up to answer it.

It was the boy, Jack Sparrow. He was holding a single yellow daffodil. When he smiled, he revealed a missing tooth and two black ones.

"Excuse me, dearie," Jack said lazily, "I was looking for a redhead girl, about your age? Nasty habit of spying on other people, listening in on things, and doesn't have any parents?"

"Who are you?" Aunt Angela said abruptly, glaring at him.

I threw down my tunic and stormed to the door, pushing Mary out of the way, who looked oddly flustered. "What do you want?"

Jack bowed. "I merely wanted to give you something, love."

"Don't call me that." I said firmly, holding out my hand, palm up. "What is it?"

Jack studied my palm. Then he took it in his and pulled me out of the house with surprising strength. I let out a gasp of surprise. Aunt Angela was on her feet, looking outraged.

"I'll only borrow her for a moment, mistress!" he promised, and proceeded to drag me all the way down the beach, the same beach James and I spent countless hours at. He finally stopped and released my hand. I wiped it against my thigh, glaring at me.

"Would you mind explaining yourself, Mr. Sparrow?" I asked acidly.

Jack looked amused. "As a matter of fact, yes. I was told to give this to you." He twisted the silver ring off of his finger and pressed it into my hand. I opened my palm and studied the ring for a moment. It was real silver, plain, the only real eye-catching part the gorgeous opal gem set into the center.

My lips parted. This ring… it was the same one I'd searched for here, years ago as a child.

"How can this be?" I breathed, turning and fitting the ring to my wedding finger. It was a perfect fit.

"I was told by Edward Fisher to bring that to you." Jack said matter-of-factly.

My head snapped up. I seized Jack by the lapel of his tunic, shaking him slightly.

"Where?" I demanded, feeling mad with desperation. "Where? By God, _where_?"

Jack lifted his hands up, palms out, looking alarmed. "A few months ago, love! In Tortuga."

"Tortuga?" I dropped my hands, defeated. "That's in the New World..."

Jack clucked his tongue. "It's just a few month's voyage. I've made the crossing twice now. I was born in the Indian Ocean, you see, and my father's a Pirate Lord. He's known Edward since-"

"I don't care!" I shouted, dragging a hand through my hair. Papa was alive. And he was a whole ocean away.

Jack cleared his throat. "Well, he insisted when we came to port in Saint de Lune that I give it to you. Good man, better pirate."

I wanted to slap him, but how could I? It wouldn't hinder the truth of his words at all. Papa _was_ a pirate, and he wouldn't come back for me.

Shoulders sagging, I turned and started the trek back home. Jack trotted after me. "So, you're from here? You're Grace?"

"Yeah." I said wearily.

"Are you a pirate?"

I glared at him. "Do you honestly think I'd ever be one of those filthy, lying, abandoning scumbags?"

Jack blinked. "I'm a pirate."

I threw up my hands. "Great. Congratulations, Mr. Sparrow."

"This is awkward." Jack said, whistling. "Well, I'm going to get back to my ship. Oh, and keep that a secret, alright? Just between us friends."

"Unbelievable." I said in dismay as Jack hurried away, twisting the ring absently on my finger. "That has got to be the worst pirate I have ever seen."


	8. Singled Out

250 miles from home, situated at the mouth of the Thames River on a sloping hillside, stood Camden Naval Academy. It was here that I'd been for the past five years, living among other teenage and twenty-something year old boys, learning how to run a ship and behave in a manner fitting for an Admiral.

There were fifty-three of us. Four had run, never to be seen again. One had committed suicide a year ago, the pressure too much for him to bear any longer. Ten more had been cut from the ranks, bringing our number down from the original sixty-eight.

There was no formal graduation date. When you were ready, you were selected by the Fleet Admiral, who would present you with your ribbons and certification and send you to wherever he chose. If you were lucky, you were sent to the British Royal Navy bound for India and the British Isles. If you were really lucky, you were placed on the Fleet Admiral's crew, which did several voyages to the New World. That was the fast track, the quickest route to ascending the ranks and becoming an Admiral yourself.

I already had five years of British Royal Navy training under my belt. Within another five years, if things continued to go as planned, I would be Captain. Then, Commodore. And finally, Admiral, like my father before me.

I planned on becoming a Lieutenant as soon as possible.

A shrill whistle brought me hurrying forward to answer the summons. A group of other boys scrambled to follow the call and straightened into a line, chests puffed out, eyes staring ahead, all other thoughts driven out of our minds.

Commodore Roanoke strutted by, resplendent in his white wig and gleaming coat. He blew on his whistle sharply again and all of us boys pivoted sharply on our feet, turning ninety degrees. He blew his whistle again and we repeated the motion until we'd gone around completely.

Commodore Roanoke gave a gruff laugh. "So, this is what five years' of hard work has merited me. Little boys pretending to be old enough to go out to sea. Dressing up in their father's clothes and pretending to be big, strong men."

I felt heat rise to my face. I knew he was singling me out. Just the other day, I had overhead Commodore Roanoke tell Fleet Admiral Love that he had never seen a man so eager to become a fully-fledged officer. I had been brimming with pride, until Commodore Roanoke had added that it was only to salvage the pride of my father and that "a path already trodden was more easily trekked".

"What do you think, Officer Norrington?" Commodore Roanoke drawled. "If we took this crew of boys out to sea and I was killed by pirates, what would you do?"

"Sir!" I barked, standing rigid as a board, "the first mate would assume command and overtake the pirates, sir! We would not rest until every one of them was defeated!"

"Good answer, Norrington," Commodore Roanoke surmised, "but I wonder, would you have the guts to do what it takes to finish the job?"

"Sir, I would not rest until every pirate scum was dead or dying!" I shouted.

Commodore Roanoke twirled his sword. "Norrington, Blake, front and center! Draw your weapons."

Officer Blake, a twenty-year-old London native, stepped forward in tandem. We marched forward with exact movements, mirrors of each other. We halted and faced each other, determination reflected back at me in his face.

"You will duel until one is incapable of going on. Non-lethal moves on, gentlemen, we don't want to lose any of our own!"

We brandished our sword blades together and began. I parried each thrust, child's play to me, while I saw Blake sweating nervously as the sharp blade swept dangerously close to his flank. The duel didn't last longer than a minute. I knocked his sword from his shaking hand and pressed my blade against his neck, not enough to draw blood but enough to guarantee the win.

"Excellent, Norrington!" Commodore Roanoke said approvingly. "You've shown more promise than any man I've ever trained, including your father!"

Pride swelled within my chest, but I refused to let it show. Deftly, I stowed my sword back in its sheath. Commodore Roanoke blew his whistle and I ascended back into the line with a defeated Blake.

"You are dismissed for the day, gentlemen." Commodore Roanoke barked. "After you correctly demonstrate fifteen sailor's knots on the barrack ropes."

He blew his whistle again. We rushed forward and hurried to complete our work. I could feel the Commodore watching me, and I tried not to let that knowledge affect me.

I knew Commodore Roanoke was looking for candidates to graduate. Already, I had devoted half a decade of my life in service to the king and to my country. I didn't want to waste any more time waiting to be promoted. I wanted to ascend the ranks as quickly and efficiently as possible.

The sooner I accomplished that feat, the sooner I could focus on my next goal: a marriage to a fine woman.

I finished my knots faster than anyone else and made my way back towards the barracks. It was warm outside, but the cool and constant river breeze kept me comfortable. Father and Mother would be coming to visit tomorrow. I had not seen them in several weeks. Hopefully, it would be the last time before I graduated.

"Norrington! A moment, if you please."

I turned and caught the eye of Commodore Roanoke. I nodded once and followed the man to the ramparts of the fort, watching countless ships drift by on the busy Thames River, carrying both cargo and sailors. I felt a pang of longing for the sea. It was roughly thirty miles from here, and ached for the tang of salt in the air and endless ocean stretching before me. I wanted to get off the land and feel the constant rocking of the waves beneath my feet.

"You've dedicated yourself more wholly than anyone in your class, boy," Commodore Roanoke remarked, gazing out at the river. "and sometimes, I wonder why that is."

I lifted a brow in surprise. I was already a full head taller than the Commodore. "I wish to serve my king and my country, sir."

"A commendable goal." Commodore Roanoke rumbled. "Officer Norrington, did you know that only one out of three men will complete their training here and become official officers of the British Royal Navy?"

I had guessed, but had hoped the rate wouldn't be so low. Grimacing, I nodded. "I had a feeling, sir."

Commodore Roanoke pulled out a pipe and lit it. The heavy smoke made my nose burn but I ignored it. The old Commodore puffed out thick white clouds before speaking again.

"I've walked this earth and sailed these seas for sixty-three years." He said quietly. I looked sideways at him in surprise. Never before had I heard the tone of sadness and nostalgia before.

"I have seen much." He went on. "I will take one final voyage before I retire from duty to the king. A small, elite crew will be chosen as I sail for the New World with my family. I have selected you to be my acting first mate."

It took a moment for the words to sink in. I blinked several times, overwhelmed by the hope flaring in my chest. "Sir?"

Commodore Roanoke turned and faced me, his dark eyes sharp and alert. "If you want to be lieutenant, Norrington, this is your fast track ticket to your new rank. If you complete this task successfully, you will graduate with full honors and be promoted to rank of lieutenant. Perhaps you will even be given your own ship in the Fleet."

I fought hard to keep my facade, but it was impossible, with my dreams so close now. Grinning, I smiled down at Commodore Roanoke, excitement filling every fiber of my being. "I would be happy to accept, Commodore."

Commodore Roanoke nodded in satisfaction. "I expected you would, Norrington." He took a long drag on his pipe, exhaling a swirling cloud of gray smoke. "What are you plans, once you become Admiral yourself?"

I chuckled. "I would like to find myself a wife, sir."

"Ah, good lad. I have seen how the girls watch you when we sail into the city. You've certainly got your options open."

I laughed easily. "Perhaps. It will be difficult to find someone as honorable as my mother."

"Difficult, but not impossible." Commodore Roanoke mused. His eagle-eyes pierced me. "Speak to your father before we leave port for the New World. It's a long journey and he will have mail for you. We depart on the morrow of next week."

My eyes widened. That soon?

Steeling myself, I tucked my hands behind my back and cleared my throat. "How long can I expect the journey to take?"

Commodore Roanoke's brows lifted. "We'll see, Officer. At least six months, if not a year."

A long time, but not forever. "Very well, then. Thank you, sir."

I had only taken a step before Commodore Roanoke's voice rang out. "James."

I halted. Commodore Roanoke had never used my first name before. "Yes, sir?"

There was a beat of silence. Then, "make sure you choose well."

Puzzled, I frowned as I pivoted on my feet. "Sir?"

Commodore Roanoke said nothing. He breathed out a cloud of smoke, dismissing me from his presence.

* * *

I'd never given much thought to the expression, "run for your life" until it applied to me.

It was odd, how one day life was normal, just as mundane and predictable as the days before. Until it wasn't.

It was summer time, which meant that with the return of warm weather and rains, mosquitoes were more rampant than normal. They were annoying and itchy and whiny and unescapable. A few of us had figured out that netting over beds and windows offered some protection, but for the most part, they were nagging pests until the cold weather returned and killed them off.

Aunt Angela, who was skilled with healing, had long theorized that the mosquitoes had something to do with the influx of illness that plagued the village every summer. Most people insisted it was the noxious fumes from the nearby swamps. Aunt Angela, who was smart and wise, had my vote. It had something to do with the little winged devils.

Unfortunately, few people shared that view.

It was just two days after Jack Sparrow brought me the ring from Papa when it happened. In the market square, someone collided with me. Letting out a soft cry, I turned to see who had bumped into my diaphragm. It was of the three Ghent daughters. It was the brown-haired girl, who seemed to be the middle child. Her eyes widened as I bounced off, stumbling into a nearby booth.

"I'm sorry," I gasped, the wind partially knocked out of me. "I wasn't watching-"

"She touched me!" The girl screamed. Now the entire plaza full of shoppers had frozen, turning to gawk. The girl pointed with an accusing finger. "Mother! Mother, come quickly!"

The blood drained from my face as Lady Ghent strode over, livid. She stood protectively in front of her daughter.

"How dare you touch my child?" She cried. "How dare you befoul her with your filthy touch?"

Indignant heat rose to my cheeks. Casting aside social class, I rolled my eyes and stamped my foot. "She bumped into me!"

Lady Ghent's nostrils flared. "Your kind carries different diseases than we do."

"My kind?" I half-laughed, half-spat the words. I knew I was going too far, pushing the limits, but I didn't care. I was not going to let this spoiled family think they could treat me like scum. We were all people, regardless of how much wealth we had.

"Yes, your kind." Lady Ghent snapped. "You're a filthy product of a pirate and some prostitute. You sicken me. You should have been cast into the sea or left on the rocks. Your very manner offends, and I will not have you foul my daughter with your poisonous touch!"

"The only filthy product I see, Lady Ghent, is you." And I spat at her feet.

I could see she wanted to hit me. Oh, she did. Her face twitched and I saw her hand draw back a fraction of a degree. But she would not put her hands on me. Not when she thought I was so disgusting.

"You little heathen." Lady Ghent breathed. She snapped her fingers. At once a soldier came. She pointed to me, glaring and looking strangely triumphant. "Seize her."

But I wasn't going without a fight. I had been personally trained by both Admiral Norrington and James. As the soldier grabbed for me, I swung out of his way and jumped onto a counter. I scrambled easily up the wall to a house, pretending it was a tree just like the ones James and I grew up climbing.

"I am under the jurisdiction of Saint de Lune, and you will not arrest me until you have a reason to." I said coldly down to Lady Ghent. I pointed to her daughter, who was sneering up at me with the same ugly look of consternation on her pinched face that her mother wore. "She will never be free of you until she's dead. You've ruined her, like a poisonous snake."

Lady Ghent trembled with fury. "Don't just stand there, shoot her!"

But I had known these soldiers all my life. And apparently, my words about their right to jurisdiction and having reasonable cause for arrest was giving their conscious a pause.

I clambered down the side of the building and ran into the trees. I could hear her screaming after me, demanding the soldiers give chase, but all I could think was You don't win.

I was still shaking with adrenaline when I reached home. No soldiers awaited my arrival, only a very worried Aunt Angela. When I reached her, she grabbed me and shook me by the lapels of my tunic.

"What were you thinking?" She said desperately, eyes full of fear. "You could have been killed!"

I unclasped her hands and stepped back. "I'm tired of her carping. I'm not going to live the rest of my life apologizing to her for things I haven't done!"

Uncle John had come out onto the porch now. He paced, dragging a hand through his hair. Aunt Angela threw up her hands, tears in her eyes.

"You try speaking some sense into her, John!" She cried, and bustled into the house. The door slammed shut behind her.

I put my hands on the railing to the small porch, gazing out across the ocean. In contrast to Aunt Angela's fierce emotions, Uncle John was quiet and collected.

"I just don't want to be treated badly because of who my father is." I said at last to him, still facing the water, unable to look at him and see shame in his face.

Uncle John came to stand beside me. He let out a gusty sigh. "Grace, you aren't a child. You're of marrying age. Legally, you can and will be tried as an adult."

I know. I thought, unable to speak past the lump in my throat.

"We can't protect you anymore."

I know.

"If they come after you, you know what they'll do."

I let out a trembling breath I hadn't realized I had been holding. Uncle John gently turned my face to look at him. Grief lined his face more clearly than I'd ever remembered seeing.

"I've already lost one child." He said quietly. "I don't want to lose you, too."

Fear filled me, quickly followed by sorrow. I embraced him, wishing I could have taken back every word I'd said to Lady Ghent. Maybe if I'd kept passive, she would have eventually given up on me. She would have moved on from her fixation.

But no. I'd had to salvage my cursed pride.

"It'll be alright, won't it, Uncle John?" I whispered.

He didn't say anything. He squeezed me once, a silent communication. That small gesture alone said enough.

I had set the ball in motion. Now, there was no stopping it. It was only a matter of time before the guillotine came down on my head.

I waited for the fall to come.

* * *

I was jarring fruit with Aunt Angela in the kitchen when they came for me.

The pounding on the door was so fierce that I dropped a glass jar on the floor. It shattered instantly. Aunt Angela wiped her hands on her apron and hurried to the door. She peeked around the corner of a window first and let out a soft gasp of fear.

Foreboding prickled at the back of my neck. I took a hesitant step forward, just as another explosive rap rap rap rattled the door.

"Coming!" Aunt Angela said loudly. She opened the door slowly, revealing six red-clad soldiers, each carrying a musket.

"Can I help you gentlemen?" Aunt Angela prompted in a falsely cheery voice.

"We need Grace Fisher." A soldier told her briskly. I was leaning against the kitchen wall, just out of sight from the porch.

Aunt Angela didn't miss a beat. "Why?"

The soldier shuffled his feet. "We have a warrant for her arrest."

I felt the blood drain from my face. What had Lady Ghent done?

"Good Heavens, why?" Aunt Angela cried.

"She is charged with witchcraft, specifically, causing the death of Rosemary Ghent."

I clapped my hand over my mouth. I wasn't certain, but I had a strong feeling that the girl who had bumped into me in the marketplace and caused a scene was the one who had died.

But of what? Surely not because of me.

The old witch, long dead, shot to the forefront of my whirring mind. She will bring doom to the lands she is brought to…

"Witchcraft?" Aunt Angela repeated incredulously. "Grace isn't… she's not a witch!"

"Her father is a known pirate." The soldier replied swiftly. "That alone calls her character into question."

Indignant rage flooded over me, washing away the fear and shame. I was the daughter of Edward Fisher, but I would not be dragged from my house like a criminal.

I strode boldly into the main room, drawing a gasp of fear from my aunt. The soldiers straightened, trying to look more intimidating, but strangely, I felt no fear. Only anger.

"If you want me, come and claim me." I said stoutly. "I am no witch. I am no pirate. If you arrest me for a crime I have not committed, my blood will be on your own hands."

The soldiers didn't look swayed. They entered the house and put heavy shackles on my wrists. Aunt Angela burst into tears.

"Don't worry, Aunt Angela." I assured her as they led me away. "God is with me."

"We'll find a way to set you free!" She cried. "God will protect you!"

The march to the fort was long. My feet ached when we finally reached the prison dungeon two miles from my house. The soldiers, most of whom I had known since childhood, didn't manhandle me. One of them solemnly opened a solitary cell and led me inside. I cooperated, knowing if I struck now, I would be outnumbered and killed.

"When is my trial?" I asked calmly to the soldier who removed my shackles.

He didn't answer.

They shut the door. I was alone here, except for a lone guard, who looked curiously at me. I narrowed my gaze, staring back defiantly.

"I'm innocent." I said loudly.

The guard rolled his eyes. "So is everyone else who gets arrested."

The sun had barely moved in the sky when I had my first visitor. It was the priest and the judge. Both looked somber and defeated.

I had been pacing around the cage like an anxious animal. I felt relief now, knowing that soon I would be set free. I went to the door, smiling. "Thank God you've come. Father, you know me. You know I'm not a witch."

But the priest looked anguished. Judge Small's face was blank as he approached me.

Just behind him was Lady Ghent, wearing all-black and veiled. She looked like Death itself.

"Why is she here?" I growled.

"She is a witness." Judge Small said quietly.

I felt another ripple of foreboding, powerful and lingering. Palms sweaty, I wiped them on my tunic and lifted my chin a notch. "A witness to what?"

"We find you guilty of the crime of witchcraft." Judge Small said bleakly. "The punishment for which, unfortunately, is death. Tomorrow at dawn you will hang by the neck in the town square, until dead."

His words, so quiet and unwillingly spoken, were heavy as millstones. They dropped into the gathering silence, as loud as bombs in my head.

 _Until dead._

 _Tomorrow at dawn._

 _We find you guilty._

I grasped the bars to the cell. If they had not been there, I would have rushed forward and killed Lady Ghent right then and there, in full witness of the priest and the Judge.

"You liar!" I screamed. "You are a godless woman! It's not my fault your rotten daughter died! It was probably one of the summer illnesses! You are the murderer, not me! _You liar!_ "

The priest couldn't look at me. He bowed his head and exited, following Judge Small solemnly up the stairs and away.

Lady Ghent merely looked at me through her translucent veils. Her eyes were black, empty, soulless.

"You liar." I whispered, fighting back tears. I would not give her the satisfaction.

Lady Ghent laughed once. Then she left.

I rested my head against the bars of the cell, shaking. I had just hours until I would die. I would never see James again, never see Papa or find my Mother.

I gave into my despair, weeping, as I waited for my life to end.

* * *

It was pitch-black outside the window to to the cell when I heard someone coming down the stairs. I hadn't slept at all. I had sat in the corner of the cell, trying in vain to escape and resorting to prayer. Desperate, tearful prayer. But I had known it was no use.

Until now.

Alert and nervous, I braced myself. It couldn't be morning yet, but that didn't mean I wasn't in danger. Lady Ghent could have pushed for an earlier execution. I took a deep breath, ready to attack whoever opened the door and run.

It was Jack Sparrow.

My lips parted. For the first time since I had heard my verdict, I felt hope. I sprang to my feet, running to the door of my cell. I gripped the iron bars tightly. "Jack!"

Jack grinned shamelessly at me. "Well, well. Look who's gotten herself trapped."

I rolled my eyes. "Yes, I know. Listen, Jack. They're going to… execute me. Please, help me. I'll do anything."

Jack's dark eyes glittered. "Anything? Really? That's a juicy promise, love. You shouldn't go making those lightly."

"I'm not." I said fervently. "Please, just get me out of here."

Jack nodded. "Alright, I'll spring you from jail. What's your plan?"

I hadn't gotten that far. "I'll have to leave Saint de Lune."

Jack made a noise. "That you will. You can come on my ship. We happen to be leaving in about ten minutes."

Breathless, I nodded. "Alright. Take me with you."

Jack grinned. "I expect payment for my services."

"You'll get it." I promised. "Please, get me out of here."

Jack produced a brass key from his pockets. He turned it in the lock and pulled the door open. Weeping with relief, I threw my arms around him, not even caring that his body odor made my eyes water further.

"Thank you." I whispered.

Jack patted my back. "Thank the priest. He's the one who gave me the key."

I gazed at him in amazement. "Really?"

Jack led me up the narrow steps. "My bet is that he and the judge were bribed or threatened to convict you. I don't think they'll go after them, though, when they discover you've escaped. They'll blame the guard."

"Where's the guard?" I asked as we crept down the ramparts of the fort.

Jack averted his gaze. "I took care of it."

Ah.

We left the fort behind and dove into a thick patch of trees just outside of the fort walls. The moon was just a slender crescent hanging in the dark sky, giving us enough light to see but making it hard for others to spot us. The knowledge that I was leaving Saint de Lune and my family made me stop short for a moment. Jack grabbed my hand and tugged me faster through the trees.

"Come on, we've got to hurry before someone-"

Just then, a bell tolled out across the grounds. The hair on the back of my neck stood up. Jack swore.

"They know." He picked up the pace. I nearly tripped trying to keep up. Branches and leaves slapped at my face as I tore after him. The light of the half-moon barely illuminated the ground in front of us as we left the cover of trees and hurried down the main road. Tears flew behind me like rain as I pelted after Jack up the gangplank and onto the gently swaying ship. A ghostly crew emerged from behind barrels and doors; I instinctively pressed closer to Jack, afraid.

"Cast off the ropes and weigh anchor!" Jack ordered in a hushed voice. "We're leaving now!"

Even though Jack clearly wasn't the Captain, the crew obeyed his command. I watched as the crew raced to do his bidding, nearly silent as they released the ship from its harness of ropes and anchor. I fought hard against crying out in grief as the ship gathered speed and pulled away from the dock, away from the only home I'd ever known. I watched a swarm of soldiers hurry to pursue, but just then, a huge explosion lit up the night sky. The heat was so intense I could feel it from the considerable distance. Jack whistled.

"Gunpowder and flint." He said happily. His smile faded as he studied my face. He handed me a handkerchief and encouraged me to blow my nose. I did, not at all ladylike but in full trumpet-sounding fashion. Jack grimaced.

"It'll be alright, love," he promised as the ship sailed quickly out to sea, "you're safe now."

I watched the horizon expand and flatten out. I couldn't see my house, but I could see the manor where the Norringtons once lived. The windows reflected the moonlight dully, like lifeless eyes. It wasn't anything like the warm, picturesque home it had been when they had lived there. I felt my heart give a great twist of pain. I closed my eyes, trying to soften the blow. If only they had been here, if only they had stayed. None of this would have happened. James would have been here. We could have stayed together. But I would never see him again.

Wait.

My eyes flew open. I couldn't believe how foolish I was. Of course I could see James again. I was on a ship. I could go anywhere, even if I had to switch vessels or barter for passage.

"Jack," I said suddenly, my voice reedy and thin from crying, "where is the ship going to next?"

Jack lifted a pierced brow. "London."

My heart lifted. Exhaling raggedly, I dabbed at my eyes with the corners of the handkerchief. The overwhelming pain was being replaced by relief and expectation.

I was going to see James.

"Ahem." Jack said.

I sniffled, dabbing at my eyes as we sailed further away from the destroyed dock and burning ships. "What?"

Jack rubbed his fingers together. "You owe me, dearie. For saving your pretty non-witch half-pirate neck."

I blinked. "I don't have anything to give you."

Jack grinned wolfishly. "You do. How about a kiss?"

I resisted the strong urge to slap him. "I've never kissed a boy."

I had thought this would deter him. I was wrong. Jack looked elated. "Then you'll never forget me."

Moaning, I covered my burning face with my hands. "I can't."

Jack clucked his tongue. "A deal's a deal. You owe me for saving your life. Pucker up."

I couldn't live with myself if I walked away from him without paying him back for rescuing me. He had risked his life for me, after all.

"This kiss wasn't meant for you." I said dryly. Jack raised a pierced brow.

"And who might it be saved for, my sweet?"

I blushed. "It's none of your concern."

Jack stepped closer. In spite of myself, heat rose in my cheeks, staining them red. Jack leaned down, his strong, masculine scent wreathing around me.

"I don't bite, love," he said softly. His eyes were so close I could make out the little red lines in the whites. Taking a deep breath, I closed the short distance between us and pressed my lips to his. They were surprisingly soft and warm.

I broke apart a moment later, embarrassed. I had wanted to save it for James. Instead, I had bestowed my first kiss upon a pirate.

"We're square." I said softly, crossing the deck to the rail, leaning against the hard wood. Jack draped his warm coat over me and retreated to his cabin. I stayed out on the deck all night, watching my old life burn to nothing.


	9. Dear James

I had never sailed on a ship before and soon began to fully appreciate the woes of those who suffered from seasickness.

The first few days aboard _The Misty Lady_ were nothing short of torture. I spent most of my time in Jack's quarters, unable to eat with my lurching stomach and barely able to keep even small amounts of water down. Eventually, I was used to the constant dip and sway of the ship and made my way blearily out into the sunshine for the first time in days.

Jack swung down from a rope, landing gracefully and offering me a wolfish grin. "Morning, love."

"Please stop calling me that." I muttered as I grabbed onto the railing for support. Nearly a week without eating had taken its toll. I was thin enough that I could feel my ribs protruding from my skin when I touched my tunic. I could hardly stand.

Jack tried to help me, but I shook him off like an irksome fly. He stayed doggedly at my side. "So, who's this boy you keep muttering about?"

I glared at him as I made it to the side of the ship, looking out across the glistening sea. No strip of land was visible, only the vast expanse of blue.

"I hardly know what you mean." I replied tartly, inhaling deep lungfuls of fresh, salty air.

Jack chuckled. "I mean the one you moan about in your sleep. Mum says whenever she goes in to check on you, you talk about a boy named James. _Come back, James! I need you, James! Where are you?"_

Hot embarrassment flooded my face. "You're lying."

"Dearie, would I lie about something so comedic?"

I moaned as a wave of nausea rolled through me. "How much farther are we from London?"

Jack clucked his tongue. "Another week, maybe two. Is this James living in London?"

"Yes, he is." I said through gritted teeth. I didn't want to consider enduring another week - or two - of this torment.

"You think he's waiting for you?" Jack asked casually. "Is he handsome?"

"The most handsome boy I've ever met." I responded.

"And you're sure this handsome boy hasn't chosen an equally handsome girl? Other than you?"

The unpleasant thought was too much for my upset stomach. I heaved again over the sides. Jack rubbed my back. As much as I wanted to push his hand off, the gesture was so relaxing that I allowed it. When it was over, I pushed away from the edges and smoothed my hair away from my damp face.

"You're doing a good service, you know," Jack said. "You're feeding the seagulls."

I laughed once and shook my head. "You have an interesting way of looking at things, Jack Sparrow."

Jack made a noise of agreement and offered me a handkerchief. I wiped my mouth and let out a small sigh. As much as I didn't want to dwell on the thought, Jack brought up a good point. James and I hadn't seen each other in five years. What was stopping him from selecting a well-educated, beautiful girl from a respectable family and money? We had written only a few letters to each other. Two a year. A pittance compared to our former conversations spent in hours of deep talk.

My heart twisted in my ribcage as I pondered how James would react upon seeing me. Would he feel the same way I did? Would we resume our friendship where we had left it, or would we enter into a new realm of intimacy?

Or worse… would our friendship be over? How much had five years' time in a naval academy changed him? How much time had five years changed _me?_

I fought tears as I looked out over the ocean. Deep, endless blue stretched before me endlessly. How could anyone want to be on the seas?

I missed level, solid footing. I missed trees and having the options of walking to town or into the woods. I hated being bound onto a small confined space, no chance of leaving until we made port.

How could James have left me? How could Papa?

"Hey," Jack said softly, drawing closer. "how's about a cup of tea?"

"No, thanks," I said in a trembling voice, dashing away tears. "I think I should go lie down."

"Have a bite to eat first." Jack said encouragingly. "Mum made yeast rolls."

Sighing, I nearly gave in. "Really, Jack. I'm alright. I just need rest."

"Alright," Jack said evasively. "But I was going to tell you about your father... Edward the Sharkbait."

I closed my eyes in defeat. Now was my chance. To learn things about Papa (or "Edward the Sharkbait") that I may or may not have wanted to hear. "Alright." I agreed. "Tell me what you know."

* * *

The ship was prepared and ready to leave port that evening. Mother and Father had me over at the house for a final meal together, before I would leave for a full year. Maybe longer, depending on the weather and how well the voyage fared.

Mother was emotional, but understanding. We sat down around the long wooden table, dining on pan fried pheasant, Yorkshire pudding, beef Wellington, roasted vegetables, and trifle for dessert. Father even had white wine served, something typically saved only for holidays and birthdays.

"I'm proud of you, Son." Father said over our mostly silent dinner. "You've ascended the ranks more quickly than even I did."

I gave a fleeting smile. "I had a good role model."

Father sipped his wine thoughtfully. "Commodore Roanoke spoke to me earlier. He says if you complete this voyage successfully, you'll be promoted to Lieutenant."

Mother gasped, clapping her hand over her mouth. "Oh, James! How wonderful! Lieutenant at eighteen…"

"I'll more likely be nineteen or twenty, Mother," I corrected. "It's a long voyage across the Atlantic and back."

Father wiped his mouth on his napkin. A servant replenished his water and wine. "Have you thought about choosing a bride, son?"

Mother looked up hopefully. "Oh, you know there's several girls vying for your attention. They've been asking all about you at tea. Won't you please think about courting one of them, James? Miss Katie Bartholomew is especially fond of you."

Oh, did I know. The girl was seventeen, brunette, and sweet. She came from a family descended from British nobles and never spoke ill of anyone. Katie Bartholomew was well-educated, kind, and wealthy. Just the kind of girl Mother and Father wanted me to marry.

Except I hardly knew the girl. And the one girl I _did_ know was over two hundred miles away at home, probably married to some grimy peasant, with children on the way.

I grimaced at the unwelcome thought. I tried not to think much of Grace these days, simply because the pain it caused was too distracting. It interfered with my training and left a constant ache in my side, like a thorn I was unable to pluck out.

But even if I wouldn't admit it, I measured every girl Mother presented to me against Grace. Grace wasn't exquisitely beautiful. In fact, she had been rather plain. Tawdry, poor, and not at all what my parents wanted for me.

But Grace was fun, witty, smart, and brave. She measured worth based on character, not appearance or wealth. She more than made up for her lack of good looks in her character. She was the best friend I'd ever had.

And I missed her.

"Katie Bartholomew deserves better." I said wryly as I tipped back my wine glass. Mother looked disappointed.

"She deserves someone like you." She insisted. "She would make an excellent choice, dear. Really. You just need to get to know her."

I clenched my teeth, not wanting to discuss any more with them. Already, my parents had chosen my path in life. They had picked out my career and hometown. They had uprooted me from the only home I'd ever known to fulfill that career dream. Since I was a small child, my entire life had been orchestrated according to their whims. I wasn't going to let them decide any more. My marriage was my choice alone.

"Ah, don't rush the boy, Katherine," Father said jovially as he flexed his index finger. A servant cleared away his dishes while Father lit a fat Cuban cigar and smoked it. "He still has plenty of time to choose."

Mother looked distressed, but she didn't press the issue. I rose from my chair and examined the Norrington coat of arms over the handsome hearth. Two magnificent stags were displayed over a crimson shield, Latin words vining around them.

 _Nam et patria, Honor super omnia:_ For king and country, honor above all else.

"I really wish you'd have let me have a farewell party for you, James." Mother sighed from behind me.

"I told you, Mother, no celebrations until I graduate from the Academy." I said tersely as I turned away from our family crest and crossed the ornate rug to the window. The ship floated serenely in the dock. It would be my home for the next year or longer.

"I suppose I should escort you down to the ship." Father said gruffly. "A man should see his son off on such an important task."

Mother started to cry. Embarrassed, I averted my gaze. She hurried from the room.

"Women." Father chuckled, but I knew his stoic manner was also a means to disguise his own feelings. I followed Father out of the heavily decorated room into the entrance hall. He was about to leave the house when Mother hurried down the stairs, taking them two steps at a time.

"Oh, James!" Mother wept, crashing into me. I patted her back soothingly, wishing she had kept her emotions contained. Now, it made it harder for me to do so.

"I have something for you." Mother sniffled. She gave Father a meaningful look. "He'll see you outside in a moment, Lawrence."

Father made a noncommittal noise in his throat. "Be quick." He let the heavy door swung shut behind him.

"Mother," I said patiently, "I must go. The ship will be departing soon."

"I know." Mother said in a quavering voice. "And there's a chance… well, you're such a good fighter, and you've earned top grades in everything. But there's a chance something could go wrong, and you could… _die_ out there."

Her face broke as she said the last sentence. I fought the momentary flutter of panic and raised my chin a notch. "I'm one of the best fighters they have, Mother. I won't be killed by a pirate's blade."

"A pirate's sword, a hurricane, sickness..." Mother wiped her eyes. "Anything could happen. My dear James, there's something you need to know before you go. I couldn't live with it if something happened to you and you never knew."

Concern chased away all other thoughts. I looked down into her face. I was over a head taller than her now. "Mother, what is it?"

Mother swallowed hard. "You have to understand. Your father thought he was doing the best for you. So you could move on with your life. Completely. But I know you. I know you still love that Fisher girl."

"What about Grace?" I said urgently, for Father had just rapped impatiently on the door. "She's probably married now, Mother. She only returned a sparing amount of my letters. If she wanted to come to London to be with me, she would have done it already."

I had never spoken these words aloud to anyone, and the fact that I had to my Mother made me burn with embarrassment. But Mother shook her head and produced a large brown bundle. She offered it to me with trembling hands. Confused, I took them. The tightly bound package was the size of a small dog. I realized after a moment that it was a stack of letters, never opened.

"Your mustn't hate your father." Mother whispered. "He was trying to protect you."

Frowning, I pulled one letter free, the envelope faded with age. In the top, scrawled in the awkward, never-perfected penmanship, was _FISHER, ST. DE LUNE, ENGLAND._

Addressed in the center: _James L. Norrington, London, England._

I nearly dropped the letter with the surge of shock that came flooding forward. I tore open the letter, scanning the top margin for the date.

 _September 12th, 1728._

 _Dear James…_

I couldn't continue. I dropped the letter to my sides. I selected the second letter from the stack of letters, tearing it open to reveal the date.

 _October 2nd, 1728…_

Closing my eyes, I fought the rising tide of fury within me. I felt Mother's cautious touch and turned from it.

"James…" Mother pleaded. I snatched the bundle up and marched outside, nearly knocking over a servant. Father was waiting for me by the black carriage. He looked politely surprised at my demeanor.

"James, are you alright?"

I strode over to my father and pushed him, hard, into the carriage. Mother gasped. She had followed me out of the house.

Father looked too surprised to push back. I leaned in close enough to smell his familiar peppermint and tobacco odor. I fought the turbulent emotions roiling inside of me.

"She tried to write me." I said through clenched teeth. "She wrote me all of those letters, and you confiscated them so I wouldn't know. You _intervened_ in our friendship, so we couldn't talk."

Father shook himself free and drew himself up to his fullest height. But I was taller now and glared down into his face.

"I did." He said shamelessly. "For your own good."

I wanted to strike him. But years of training in the Academy had conditioned me to override fierce primal instinct. Breathing hard, I forced myself to calm down. " _Why_."

Father merely looked at me. "She's not good for you, Son. You needed to move on, and cut all ties from your old life in order to succeed as a naval officer. Your childhood is over, James. You're an adult now, and a promising young officer at that. She isn't good for you."

I closed the distance between us until I was nose-to-nose with my father. "That wasn't for you to decide."

"I'm your father." Father responded calmly. "And I will make the best decisions for you. You never would have had a future with her, James."

"I guess we'll never know now." I hissed, turning my back on him and snatching the reins to Alexander, who pawed the gravel anxiously, wanting to gallop.

"She's a peasant daughter of an absent pirate and a mother who is most likely dead." Father called to me. "She wouldn't be able to keep up with you, with your position in society or your circumstances. This is for your own good, son. I did this because I love you."

I straightened up in the saddle of my horse, stowing the stack of letters in my bag. "I love _her_." I half-shouted as I dug my heels into the horse, who reared and took off down the road to the dock. And now it was too late. Grace was most likely married off and had a family of her own. She had probably forgotten all about me, because she probably thought that I had abandoned her, just like her own father had.

People jumped out of the way as I pelted toward the dock. I handed the reins off to a servant waiting by the ship and stormed up the gangplank. I was younger than most of the crew, but gave me a wide berth and nods of respect generally reserved for people my father's age.

Burning with barely contained rage, I strode to the helm and oversaw the final preparations of the ship. I inhaled deeply to try and calm my pounding heart.

 _A year at sea_. Perhaps that would give me what I wanted. When I completed this voyage, I would be a fully-fledged naval officer under the king. Perhaps then Father would see that I was experienced enough to make my own decisions, live my own life. Even if I wanted to fashion it after his.

"Weigh anchor boys, and step to!" I called out in a sharp voice that carried across the ship. "Hoist the sails and ho!"

Commodore Roanoke shuffled to my side. "You can still decline my offer."

I tucked my hands behind my back. Already, I could picture the ceremony that would herald my graduation, my promotion. All I had to do was this final test of strength.

"I always keep my word, Commodore." I said somberly as the ship pulled away from the dock. The wind caught in the sails, carrying it down the river with speed and determination, leaving London and everything in it behind.

* * *

The ship swayed and dipped in the constant waves as Jack slid me a cup of herbal tea. I eyed it suspiciously before bringing it to my lips. "Lemon and ginger." I guessed.

"Mum's secret to a weak stomach." Jack said pleasantly as he rolled a pair of grimy dice on the table.

I took a sip. It was hot, surprisingly strong. But as soon as the first taste went down, my stomach quelled. Sighing in luxurious relief, I sagged into the chair and breathed in the silver curls of steam.

"Your father, Edward Fisher, or Edward the Sharkbait as we pirates called him, was a pirate on my father's ship for seventeen years." Jack began, rattling the dice in his hands. "He insisted that Dad let him come back to Saint de Lune every now and then to check on you. He was very firm about that."

I wrapped my hands around the hot teacup. If he wasn't my father, then why would he have come to see me?

"I was told he found me on the beach, as an infant." I revealed, watching Jack's face for a telltale sign that he had already known.

But Jack didn't look surprised. "He never talked about your mother, and I'm not sure if anyone knows who she is. He said your mother tracked him to Saint de Lune and left you where he'd find you and raise you."

Tears welled in my eyes, the ancient hurt rising. Why hadn't my mother wanted me? Had I really been that horrible as a baby that she couldn't wait to get rid of me?

"Edward was Dad's first mate, his right-hand man," Jack went on. "After Norrington tracked us down and tried to capture us, Mr. Gibbs set us free and helped us escape."

 _Gibbs._ The name seemed oddly familiar. I closed my eyes, trying to picture James here, as a small boy, in the fray of battle and being knocked into the sea and being rescued by a pirate. Jack's father.

"Gibbs… Gibbs… did he have large sideburns?" I asked vaguely.

"As a matter of fact, yes." Jack confirmed. "The biggest ones I'd ever seen."

I nearly dropped the cup. "But he's a crew member on Norrington's ship! He's a traitor!"

Jack waved me away carelessly. "The man doesn't know what he wants, love. He'll choose a side eventually. Don't look at me that way, dearie. Just drink your tea."

I glared at him. "Anyone else I know a pirate?"

Jack shrugged. "Just your father. We had to take him back early a few years ago, before Norrington could hang him for piracy."

"Admiral Norrington wouldn't do that!" I said hotly. "He's a good, honest man!"

Jack merely looked at me. "You certainly are defensive of those rich, puffed-up lapdogs of the king."

Glowering, I set the cup down forcefully. "They're good people."

"Good people who hang pirates simply for being pirates, and who dine in lavish splendor while others starve in the streets." Jack added a dash of rum to his tea. "Those are the kind of people the Norringtons are. Savvy?"

Pretending I couldn't hear him, I cleared my throat. "Why hasn't my father come home?"

"Because your beloved Admiral would have hanged him. Edward knew his chances had run out, after James fell overboard and Edward wasn't going to rescue him."

I gaped at Jack, disbelieving. "No… no, Papa wouldn't do that. He wouldn't let James drown."

Jack gazed at me seriously without a hint of doubt. "He was going to let him drown, because he knew that little James was going to grow up and become just like his pirate-hating father. I was there. I saw it myself."

I pressed my hands to my hot cheeks. "Papa wouldn't."

"He would, darling, and he did. Your father is a pirate, a cold-hearted scallywag, a scoundrel who left his own daughter behind to go pirating."

"That's enough!" I shouted, jumping to my feet, ignoring the tears running freely down my cheeks. "Jack Sparrow, you're a liar and I hate you!"

Jack merely looked at me. "Fiery little redhead, aren't you, beastie?"

I wanted to throw something at him. Instead I stormed around the cabin, seasickness temporarily forgotten in the wake of my agonized rage. I hated his words, and I didn't want to believe them… but I knew they held merits of undeniable truth.

"Papa _loves_ me." I insisted.

"Aye, he does, and I'll bet that's why he stayed away." Jack said, taking a long pull from his flask. "To protect you, and give you a chance at a normal life, away from pirates."

I shut my eyes tightly against the onslaught of memories, memories filled with confusion and sadness because they were memories devoid of my parents. I had never known my mother and Papa had only sparingly flitted in and out of my life, until the last time. I hadn't seen the man in ten years.

"He told me to give you that ring because it belonged to your mother." Jack went on. "And he said that if she's alive, you'll be able to find her now."

I stared at Jack, the words of his mother coming back to me. _If you wish to find her, you must leave this place and never return._

"Mum said you have 'a touch of destiny about you'," Jack continued vaguely, gnawing at his bitten nails. "Whatever that means. But here, take this." He offered me a black box, opening it part-way, revealing a spinning compass.

I narrowed my eyes at it, suspicious. "This… this compass doesn't work."

"Aye, it does, love," Jack assured me, "it points to whatever you want the most in this life."

Tormented, I watched the compass spin restlessly, never coming to stop on a point. I sat down wearily on the bed, feeling like I was a hundred and eighteen, not just eighteen.

"I don't know what I want." I admitted wearily. Who did I want to see most? Papa, James… or my faceless, nameless mother?

Jack shrugged. "Well, you hold onto for a bit. If you have a heading by the time we make port, you can keep it for awhile."

I sagged against the flimsy pillow, drained. Jack hadn't need to speak much. Hearing about Papa from another pirate's mouth was enough.

"I know this must be upsetting to hear, love," Jack said, reclining in his chair, "but it's the truth. Sleep on it. We'll be in London soon enough. I'll tell you more about your father tomorrow."

I brushed away a few more tears and pretended I hadn't heard everything he'd just told me. Part of me wished I had never agreed to listen. Another part was relieved to finally hear the truth.

"What do you want?" Jack asked again, snuffing out a few candles with his dirty fingers.

I gazed out of the window, the moonlight streaming in, filling the cabin with dim silvery light.

Papa. James. Or my mother.

"I don't have an answer for you." I said softly as I turned away from him, dismissing him.

Jack opened the door, about to leave, "maybe you do, but you don't want to admit what it is."

He left me in the dark, alone with my troubling thoughts.

* * *

Less than a day after we departed from London, we were drifting five miles north of the mouth of the Thames River when we informed of what I had dreaded most: pirates.

"Sir," Officer Williams said, rushing up the steps to the deck, where I sat with Commodore Roanoke, drinking tea. I glanced at him, my conversation with the old Commodore effectively over.

"Yes, Officer?" I asked, setting down my porcelain cup, where it rattled in the saucer.

Officer Williams straightened up in the presence of the two most powerful men on the ship. "Sir, there's a ship not far from us. She's heading for the Thames."

Commodore Roanoke made a noise of annoyance. "Yes, that tends to happen when one is traveling on the sea. Why are you telling us this, Officer?"

Officer Williams flushed red. "Pardon, sir, but the ship isn't flying any colors."

I glanced at Commodore Roanoke sharply. "Pirates." The old man growled. I jumped to attention.

"Permission to send those sea rats into the depths, sir?" I asked, ready to give the command to prepare for battle.

Commodore Roanoke merely snapped his fingers. A crewman brought him a telescope. He lengthened it and pressed it against one eye. He was silent, gazing in the direction of the distant black ship. Then he lowered it and reached for his pipe.

"Orders, sir," I said urgently. If we were going to attack, it needed to be now.

Commodore Roanoke tapped a few pinches of herbs into his pipe and lit it. He breathed out a cloud of acrid smoke, narrowing his eyes thoughtfully.

"Orders?" I said again, growing impatient. Our small window was almost closed. "Should we pursue?"

"So eager for battle and bloodshed…" Commodore Roanoke observed, and I felt a rush of embarrassed heat run through me.

"I only wish to keep our country safe, sir," I assured him. "Pirates are among the worst scum of humanity."

"Perhaps." Commodore Roanoke replied vaguely. "But taking lives isn't as easy as the innocent believe. Have you ever killed anyone, Officer Norrington?"

Instantly, my mind transported me back onto the deck of _The Misty Lady_ , all those years ago, when I had been too scared to attack. I grimaced. "No, sir."

"Then we shall let them go in peace." Commodore Roanoke decided.

"But, sir," I began. Commodore Roanoke gave me a hard look.

"See for yourself, Officer," he invited, handing me his telescope. Obliging, I wordlessly took the device from his wrinkled hands and gazed through it.

Distantly, the black ship came into focus. Tattered black sails - devoid of any nationality's colors - fluttered slightly in the sea breeze. A faint white line wrapped around the length of the ship. A rush of heat burst forth as I recognized the old boat.

It was _The Misty Lady_.

"Sir," I said in a slightly shaking voice, "if you would reconsider-"

"I won't be wasting gunpowder or cannonballs, or risk the lives of my crew to pursue a ship that most likely isn't worth attacking." Commodore Roanoke interrupted. His tone held a note of warning and finality that made me clench my jaw tightly. More than anything, I wanted to chase after the boat and do what I couldn't those years ago as a child. I wanted revenge.

"Keep to the course." Commodore Roanoke instructed the helmsman. "Our next stop is Port Royal."


	10. A Word of Caution

The great stench of London came to me before I even saw the city. Gagging, I backed away from the railing as _The Misty Lady_ wound her way through the Thames River, hand clamped firmly over my mouth.

"Smells pretty rank, eh?" Jack asked as he came to stand beside me.

"It's… it's…" I trailed off.

"Hard to describe." Jack offered as he wrinkled his nose. "We're just here to reload and resupply before heading back out to sea. In fact, I'm thinking of jumping ship there and trying to go off on my own ship. I'm seventeen. Old enough to be a man or a Captain."

I watched the approaching city sprawl drift closer to us. James was somewhere here, without any knowledge that I was so close by. I gripped the railing until my fingernails dug into the flaky wood. James was attending some sort of naval academy. It had been so long since our last conversation on the hill overlooking Saint de Lune that I couldn't remember the name. Biting my lip, I felt apprehension grow as the full scale of the city came into view. It was so large that I couldn't see from the beginning to the end. Unlike Saint de Lune, which was small enough to run from end to end in under ten minutes, this place was overwhelmingly vast. Like comparing a little forest pond to the sea.

I shivered at the daunting thought of my quarry. It would take days, maybe weeks to find James. But after I had waited five years, it didn't seem so long after all.

"What's on your mind, love?" Jack quipped as he came to lean by me. His foul breath, matching the stench of the city, made my nose wrinkle. He frowned down at me, not comprehending.

"I'm thinking about being sick." I said frankly, smiling in spite of myself. Jack chuckled and took a long dappled feather from his headband, already bedecked with a string of colored beads and a small silver key hanging from a red thread. He tucked the feather behind my ear, smiling in approval.

"Do I look like an English lady?" I asked jokingly.

Jack regarded me thoughtfully. "You look like a pirate."

The brief moment of connection was broken. Stung, I marched into his quarters and slammed the door behind me.

I knew he hadn't meant to insult me. But it had touched a nerve. Deeply. Sighing, my blood already cooling, I plucked the feather from my hair and studied it. It was tan, dappled with snow-white, and as long as my forearm. It had to be an eagle feather, or a turkey feather. I traced the soft edge against my skin, waiting for the ship to dock.

The door opened. Jack leaned against the frame casually, a flask of rum in one hand. "Time to go."

Wordlessly, I left his cabin for the last time and walked past him. He tried to reach out for my hand, but I slapped it away. Two weeks after our one kiss aboard this ship, and Jack thought it meant we were betrothed. He followed me down the gangplank and into the bustling port, weaving to keep up with me.

"Do you even know where you're going?" He asked pointedly.

I glared at a large man after he rudely bumped into me without a second glance. I pulled out his compass, trying to focus on the rapidly spinning - but never stopping - needle.

"Where does this lovely James character live?" Jack piped up, taking the compass from my hand and slipping it into his pocket.

I frowned. The city of London seemed to stretch monotonously in either direction, unbroken by anything but narrow streets and tall buildings. Everywhere I looked, there were crowds of people. Hurried, hassled people. Not friendly and calm like those of Saint de Lune. I hugged my arms to my chest, wishing for home.

But that was impossible, thanks to the Ghents. Resigning myself to my fate, I looked at Jack sourly. "I'm not sure of the name. But he attends a naval academy somewhere here in London."

Jack tapped his chin thoughtfully. His small beard made scratching noises against his blackened fingernails. "Well, let's see if we can find the governor's house first. I'll bet it's on a hill somewhere, overlooking the rest of the city. Come on."

Jack stole someone's horse and helped me up. I couldn't help but think of James as we rode through the crowded streets, people leaping out of our way as we plowed through. He urged the stallion up a curving road, which wound like a coiled snake through the buildings. Eventually, the ramshackle buildings by the river changed into more substantial houses. Gradually, they spaced out and apart, and after crossing through a marked road, the buildings turned into gigantic, grand houses with huge pillars supporting the roofs and porcelain statues in the yards.

 _I bet the Norringtons live in this neighborhood,_ I thought as Jack wheeled the horse up another street and stopped at a formidable black iron gate. Two armed guards in crimson and white uniforms stood in front of the impressive gate, blocking any hope of entering.

"Go around the back." Jack urged. I dismounted and felt assurance rise in my chest as I saw the tall flag pole in the middle of the large yard, one flag donning England's colors and the other the Norrington coat of arms.

The guards kept their trained eyes on Jack as I pretended to leave. In reality, I snuck around into the back bushes of the neighbors and moved along the length of the stone wall. When I was well enough away from the prying eyes of the neighbors, I scaled the wall easily, my tunic loose and unconforming as the heavy layers of clothing that women typically wore. I jumped down onto the manicured green lawn of the Norrington's backyard and froze, waiting for a dog to start barking or a guard to come for me.

None came.

I sprinted across the lawn - just a huge, flat expanse of green - and pressed myself against the brown limestone walls of the manor. Red and green ivy covered most of the wall, climbing all the way up to the ramparts. The manor looked more like a fortress than a house. I tried each glass window, then realized how bad it would look if I broke into the Norrington's house. How awful would that look, after five years of absence? They would think I had become a thief.

Face hot, I hurried to the massive double doors at the front of the house. The guards were still watching Jack, who was staring up at the house, a worthy distraction. I stretched up on my toes and rapped the heavy knocker three times. It was a brass lion's face, intimidating and proclaiming the wealth and status of the Norrington's.

I stood, shaking, as I listened to the sound of approaching footsteps. For one panicked moment, I almost dove into the adjacent bushes. But then the door swung open, and a white-wigged man wearing a brown suit with ruffles at the throat stood before me. He took in my haggard appearance slowly.

"We don't hire prostitutes." He said at last, and my face flamed.

"I'm not a prostitute." I said instantly. "I'm an old family friend of the Norringtons."

The servant's frown deepened. "I'm sure you are."

His voice was heavy with sarcasm. Holding my temper in check, I persisted.

"Please, I've come a long way and I need to see them." I peered around his shoulder, trying to see inside. The inside of the house was massive.

The man blocked my view, shutting the door behind him. "Miss, if you please, leave, or I'll have to call the guards and have you escorted out."

 _I should have snuck in through the window._ I thought. I tried again.

"You don't understand. My name is Grace Fisher. Surely they must have mentioned me!"

The servant's eyes flickered. "Yes, and I was given strict orders to have you escorted out by Admiral Norrington himself. Come along."

I stared at him in disbelief. "You're lying."

The servant advanced. I took a step back. "Wait. Please. I've traveled so far."

But he was firm. "Cornelius! Abner! Escort this woman from my presence."

At once, the two red-coated guards turned from their posts by the gate. A gatemaster opened it for them. They advanced.

Panic made me brave. "James!" I screamed. "JAMES!"

The men froze. Clearly, they hadn't expected me to know the name of the one of the Norringtons, particularly the youngest one.

"Get her out of here." The servant ordered. "Now."

The two men moved swiftly. They both grabbed an arm, dragging me out. I fought every inch of the way, but they were firm. They dumped me outside the gate unceremoniously so that I stumbled and fell to my knees, scraping them. They let the gates slam shut.

Jack was there instantly. "Well, thankfully, I have a way of getting around the rules." He said, brushing off the dust from his shirt.

I glared at the guards. "What did he mean, he has orders to keep me out? Are sure this is the Norrington's house?"

Jack faltered. "Well… that's their coat of arms, isn't it?" He pointed to the unmistakable red flag snapping in the breeze.

Sighing, I conceded. He was right. For whatever reason, Lawrence Norrington didn't want me around.

But that wasn't a good enough reason for me. I had traveled over 250 miles to find James, and I wasn't going to leave without at least seeing him once more.

"Come on, dearie," Jack said. "Let's try the back way again. This time, don't bother knocking on the front door."

"I suppose I shouldn't be surprised that a pirate knows how to break into a house." I remarked dryly as Jack wheeled the horse around to the back of the property. He pointed to an open balcony on the second story of the grand manor, where a maid was shaking out clean laundry.

"See that flower trellis? Climb up it and that's how you'll get in. If you open a window, it'll attract too much attention. Just don't mention that you're with a pirate, alright?"

I smiled. "Why? Do you intend on accompanying me?"

Jack made a face. "I'll have to pass on that one, love. But I'll be waiting for you tonight. I'll come back for you here at sundown."

Filled with trepidation, I dismounted and waited for the maid to turn her back. Jack rode off. Feeling vulnerable and knowing that if I was caught by the guards again, they would be much less lenient than before.

After five minutes, the maid finished her chore and left the balcony. She didn't return. I cast a last furtive look around the property, and then scaled the wall once more. This time, I didn't bother knocking and instead followed Jack's instructions. Palms slick with sweat, I almost lost my grip on the white lattice of the trellis, the sweet wisteria making me sneeze. Trembling with consternation, I pressed my back against the wall of the house, listening for any sound. But it was just me and my labored breathing.

I entered the room. It was large, open, and filled with decorations that bespoke of the Norrington's wealth. I slipped unnoticed through the open door and down the rugged hall. Paintings hung on the corridor walls, scenes of landscapes and portraits that must have cost a hefty price. Each time I reached a door, I peered inside, looking for any sign of James, but there was none. In fact, the house looked so clean, so immaculate, that is was hard to believe anyone lived here at all.

After seven doors on each side of the corridor turned up empty, I decided to take my chances and try downstairs. I walked as quietly as I could on my worn sandals, listening hard for the presence of anyone else. I entered the kitchen quietly, listening hard, on edge, looking behind me to make sure I wasn't being followed.

And walked straight into Admiral Norrington.

* * *

The _HMS Dauntless_ arrived in the balmy heat of Port Royal less than four months after we had departed England. Palm trees swayed in the hot wind, the salt tang of the sea permeating through the muggy air. I was sweltering under my uniform, fighting the near-constant threat of passing out. It was completely foreign from the constant cool of England.

"You'll get used to it." Commodore Roanoke said, as if he could read my thoughts as I stood on the balcony of his new and final home, a grand stone manor sitting near the top of the port. It was so similar to the village of Saint de Lune that it brought a twisting pang of homesickness in my gut, stronger than I'd ever felt.

But we were clear across the Atlantic now. This was the New World, not England.

"Tell me, Officer Norrington," Commodore Roanoke inquired as he poured himself a cup of brandy, "what lays so heavily upon your mind?"  
I hid a chuckle. "To be completely frank, my lord, I feel like a roasting pig over a fire."

Commodore Roanoke made a noise of understanding. "A small price to pay for the rank you have earned. And you have earned it well. I have already penned my letter to the King. Upon your return to England, you will be a fully-fledged Lieutenant of the British Royal Navy. You will serve as commander of the _Dauntless,_ second only to the Captain on board. You have done well, James."

I startled. Never before had he used my familiar name. "Thank you, sir."

Commodore Roanoke poured a second glass of brandy and nudged it toward me. I took it gratefully and took a swig, the night air cooling on my warm face.

"I am old." Commodore Roanoke sighed. "My wife and daughters have a new home here, in the Caribbean. I will never again command a ship, nor plunge a sword through the gullet of a pirate. My time as a soldier is over. Yours is only just beginning. Tell me… what do you plan to do, once you achieve your coveted status of Admiral?"

I took another drink of the brandy. It felt like fire as it burned its way into my stomach. "You sound as if you know for certain that I will be Admiral."

Commodore Roanoke nodded. "Indeed… I believe you will become what your father is. For a moment, would you humor an old man? My son perished in a battle years ago, and I cannot speak to my daughters as I speak to you."

Unsure of where he was going, I allowed him to continue. I gave a tiny nod. Commodore Roanoke let a gusty breath and relaxed in his chair. He dipped a chunk of bread into a bowl of stew and chewed for a moment, swallowing hard.

"My parents were nobles in the King's Court. From the time I was a small boy, I could see my whole life spread out, according to their plans. They detailed everything, from what I would wear to how I would talk and to what I would do. They wanted me to become a Commodore. But I wanted to be an artist."

I lifted a brow. It was hard to imagine the battle-scarred old man as anything but an old lion. "An artist?"

Commodore Roanoke chuckled. "Yes, an artist, of all things! You see, I have always loved to paint. Landscapes, people, animals… it was my greatest passion. I found myself working odd jobs just to afford supplies for my art. And people would buy them. Other nobles, to furnish their houses. Even the King, when he saw my painting of a regal warhorse. Ah, but I was young. And I let others decide my future for me." His eyes shuttered. "There was a young woman by the name of Mary Anna. She was fifteen, like me. She was poor, poorer than most. Thirteen brothers and sisters, and they lived in a house barely big enough for my mother's chambers to fit in. But we were young and very much in love. I remember telling my father that I wanted to marry her. He laughed and thought I was trying to make a joke. He grew angry when I insisted it was no joke. I loved Mary Anna, and I wanted to run away to Paris with her and be a painter."

Commodore Roanoke grew quiet. He took a long pull of his brandy and poured himself another. "But my father was firm. His dream was to see his only son become an officer in the British Royal Navy, to serve the king and defend his country. So the next day, he forced me and my family to relocate to Portugal. I was bound and gagged for part of the trip because I fought so hard. By the time I returned to London three years later, an officer in the Navy, Mary Anna had died of a common illness. An illness that could have been so easily treated in my social circle."

I sat, frozen, trying to absorb his words. I had never dreamed the old Commodore could have had so much in common with me. "She _died_?"

"Yes." Commodore Roanoke confirmed heavily. "She was only eighteen years old, a very gifted singer. I regret not returning home sooner. If I could, I would have run back to London at the first chance I had. Mary Anna would be my wife. And yes, we would be paupers in Paris, but I see now more than ever, at the twilight of my life, that all of the riches and glory I aspired to were vanity. Simple, utter, pointless vanity." He fixed his liquid brown eyes on me, imploring. "I see so much of myself in you, James. Your ambition, your aspirations, your drive to succeed and even your desire to please your father. But I caution you not to lose sight of what truly matters in life."

"And that is?"

He smiled. "Love."

I shook my head, trying to dislodge some of the weight of his words. "Sir, if you're asking me to sacrifice my career as a Royal Navy Officer, I cannot."

"I am not asking that of you, James." He assured me, staring thoughtfully off the balcony to the glistening waters of the Atlantic. "But I have noticed how you are often lost in thought. Do you think of your dreams to become Admiral, or something else?"

This time, it was me who took a full drink of the brandy. "Her name is Grace. I can't help it, sir… I love her."

"Well, by jove!" Commodore Roanoke exclaimed, banging his fist on the table. "Why don't you stop mooning and pining over her and just _marry_ the girl already? Didn't you listen to anything I just told you?"

I flinched, startled by his outburst. " _Marry_ her? I can't just sail across the Atlantic, walk up to her and say, 'Hello, Grace, remember me? We were children together years ago… will you marry me?' It just isn't done that way."

"Oh, come now, James!" Commodore Roanoke insisted. "Sail across the ocean and back to your village and sweep that girl off her feet. Would you rather marry someone your parents choose for you, or will you have the courage to marry someone _you've_ chosen?"

I shook my head. "It just wouldn't work. After six years, what have I to offer her? I would be away at sea for months at a time, leaving her at home alone. Her family is in Saint de Lune, not London. She is a lady of quality and character. She deserves better."

Commodore Roanoke leaned forward, his eyes twinkling. I knew it had to do with the fact that he was now on his third glass of brandy, but it also something deeper. He was vulnerable like I had never seen him before. And something told me I probably wouldn't see him like this again, either.

"For Heaven's sake, son. Sometimes we must take matters into our own hands. You've had it easy, letting your parents decide for you all of your life. But will you take an opportunity for yourself and see where it takes you? Or would you rather let it pass by you, never to return?"

I leaned back in the chair, watching the endless expanse of dark water glittering in the light of the moon. Across the ocean was Grace, somewhere. She could have been married by now, or even dead. Between us was an oceanful of pirates, including her own father.

"This is _your_ life, James," the old Commodore reminded me as he finished his third glass of brandy, "and you're the one who has to live with it."

Those were his last words before he closed his eyes and leaned back in his chair, about to pass out, leaving me alone with my conflicting thoughts about Grace and about my career.

If I had to choose, which one would I pick? And more importantly, which one could I live with?

* * *

I opened my mouth to scream, but quickly covered it with my hand. I backed up, terrified, hearing the words of the servant echo in my ears: _I was given strict orders to have you escorted out by Admiral Norrington himself._

The Admiral had aged well in the five years I had not seen him. There was a new tinge of dignified gray at both temples, and he looked content, successful, and at peace. But when he looked at me, I saw those emotions disappear. Now, I saw shock, and regret.

"Sir, I…" I was lost for words. What did I say to this man, who was James' father, but also the same man who had spared my father's life for years simply because I was his daughter? What did I say to him, when he was the driving force behind James' departure from my life?

I couldn't think of what to do, so I did what came naturally: I curtsied in the presence of an Admiral.

Admiral Norrington said nothing. Even though James looked very much like his mother, I could see the same oval shape of his face repeated in his father's, the same proud posture. Afraid, I waited for him to say something, anything.

"It's been a long time, Grace." He said at last. I nodded once, hands clasped before me, trying not to meet his eye directly. But I couldn't help it. Even though it violated the unspoken rules of social class, Admiral Norrington was still James' father.

"Come." Admiral Norrington said, nodding to the kitchen. "I was about to make a pot of coffee, and I imagine you and I have some things to discuss."


	11. Fathers

**Hi everyone! I am so sorry it's taken me a whopping FOUR months to update this story, but to be honest, I was completely stumped with what to do. I have material for later in the story, but my mind was totally blanking on what to do for this arc of the James/Grace story. Fortunately I am over that block and hope to update TOD as often as I can :) Enjoy!**

* * *

Admiral Norrington placed a steaming mug of coffee before me, but I didn't touch it. He added cream and sugar to his - rare, precious, expensive commodities that my family had never been able to afford - and stirred it with a silver spoon. He took a thoughtful sip and trained his gaze on me. I looked away.

"Why have you come here?" He asked at last, his voice carefully neutral.

I sucked in a deep breath and remembered that even though Admiral Norrington was a commander of the seas, he was also still James' father. "I had to leave."

"Why?"

I blinked, remembering the dank, dark dungeons when I thought my life was about to end. "Do you know an Admiral Ghent?"

A shadow flitted across his face. "I do."

"His wife thought I was a witch. They were going to hang me at dawn, so I left." I decided to leave out the part where Jack had rescued me. Admiral Norrington was known as a foe to pirates, not their ally.

He set his cup of coffee down on its saucer, rattling it slightly. "She's always been a bit of a loose cannon. Unfortunately, word spread that there was a witch in Saint de Lune, but they must have not received word that the real one had been executed years ago. I'm sorry you had to go through that, Grace. How is your family?"

"Nathan died of summer fever." I said, feeling a twinge of grief over my dead cousin. "Everyone else is well, I suppose."

We were tiptoeing around the elephant in the room, and I couldn't bear it for much longer. "Sir, please… where is James?"

Admiral Norrington seemed to have been waiting for this. Carefully schooling his face blank, he said, "he's completing his final assessment at the Camden Naval Academy."

I rose excitedly from my chair. "So he's nearby?"

But he wasn't smiling. Faltering, I placed my hands on the tabletop for support. "He's nearby, isn't he?"

Admiral Norrington pursed his lips. "I expect that right about now, he's clear across the Atlantic, in the New World."

The breath in my body left me in a _whoosh_. I sat down heavily, trying to digest this new information.

"When?" I asked quietly. "How long will he be gone?"

James' father swallowed. "A year, maybe less. Maybe longer, depending on how well the journey fares. His mother was very upset when he told her."

"I can't imagine why." I said sourly before I could stop myself. I stared at Admiral Norrington, horrified.

But he shook his head, smiling. "It seems that you've retained your sharp tongue, Grace Fisher."

Blushing, I twisted my hands together in my lap and studied the tattered thinning fabric of my tunic.

"Why did that servant say you didn't want me here?" I asked quietly, not looking up.

Admiral Norrington let out a gusty sigh. "Truth be told… I wasn't sure I wanted your influence on my James."

My neck snapped up. Hot color filled my cheeks at his words. "What do you mean, sir?"

"I mean," Admiral Norrington said as he sipped his coffee again, "that I've suspected you two have had feelings for each other than ran deeper than just friendship for quite awhile. I suspect that was the key reason why James did not want to leave Saint de Lune in the first place."

I stared at him, stunned. "You _knew_? And you still made him leave?"

I hadn't meant for it to come out as an accusation, but the past six years filled with loneliness made me speak my mind. Admiral Norrington gave me a long, measured look.

"My son was about to surrender his career to be your husband." He said in a cool tone that made me flush with indignant embarrassment. "He would have remained in Saint de Lune, perhaps a fisherman or a squire. But his ambitions strive for much greater aspirations. He has the rare makings of a Commodore, of an Admiral. I couldn't let him squander his future for some puppy love."

Angry tears were forming in my eyes. "You _knew_."

"Yes, I knew," he said frankly, "but when you have been on this Earth as long as I have been, you become more aware of opportunities and their threats. I couldn't let your influence derail the years of hard work we'd poured into James."

As much as I wanted to fight him on his reasons, there was logic behind them. James had always wanted to be like his father, an Admiral in service to the King of England. And our friendship took precedence over everything. Even our own families.

Did Admiral Norrington really think I would hold James back from his dreams?

"I would have come to London." I said through gritted teeth, holding my rising temper in check. "I would have supported him through his training."

Admiral Norrington's brows lifted. "Truly? It doesn't seem that has been your prerogative. Hasn't your biggest fault been your misfortune?"

My mouth dropped open. "I beg your pardon?"

"An absent pirate for a father. A likely-deceased mother whom you never knew. Accused of witchcraft. Condemned to death. I could go on. I don't mean to upset you my dear, but as you are of age and you have come so far, I will not deny you the privilege of being spoken to as a fellow adult. The world rarely works in favor of those who live in it, and you are no exception. I must say, I'm impressed that you made it all the way to London and our doorstep at all. But had James been here, I knew he would have dropped everything - nearly twenty years of careful molding and shaping - for you. And my dear Grace, I simply could not allow that. I could not allow him to throw away all of his hard work for a small-town fishwife."

It was hard to imagine that once, I had seen Admiral Norrington as a stoic, cigar-smoking father of my best friend who would read us bedtime stories or personally pick me up from my house for dinners at their manor. It was hard to think that at one point had I ever considered him kind.

Furious, hurt beyond words, I shoved my chair back and stormed out of the kitchen. But before I could get to the front door, I turned on my bare heel and marched back into the archway of the grand kitchen, unable to keep my temper in check any longer.

"I would _never_ bring James down." I spat. "You're not the only one who has his best interests at heart, _Admiral_. At least I would never force him to make a choice! Can you say the same?"

Admiral Norrington rose from his chair. "Careful, Grace." He said slowly, his eyes flashing, but I didn't back down. I hadn't left home and endured three miserable weeks aboard a pirate's ship to walk away quietly.

"I love James, too!" I shouted. "I wonder, sir, how much of his love you've had to buy or earn, when he's always given it to me for free!"

"That's enough!" He growled, but it fell on deaf ears.

"I traveled nearly three hundred miles to see him, but you won't even give me the satisfaction of telling me when he left. Oh, I believe that he's gone, alright," I said at the outraged expression on his face, "but I believe there's more than you're telling me. I don't think that James sent me just those few letters I received. I think that you've interfered much more than you'd care to admit."

"Now you've gone too far!" He shouted, taking a furious step toward me. Even though my legs shook in fear, I stood firm. I was not going to run anymore.

"I've heard that the truth isn't always easy to hear." I said scathingly. "You don't understand. James and I are a match. You can't change that, no matter how much you meddle or try to separate us. And I'll wait for him, even if I have to lay the gates of your house every night until he comes home."

Admiral Norrington's face was mottled red with rage. "I won't allow it!"

"Then I'll wait by the Naval Academy. Or the docks. Whatever it takes. I know life is short, Admiral, and I don't intend on letting anyone live it for me. It's only a matter of time before James figures it out too. And then, what will you be to him?"

I ran from the kitchen and through the slightly-opened front door before I could say anything else.

* * *

The cobblestoned streets of Port Royal wound through the buildings stacked neatly together near the edge of the Atlantic. Being a harbor town, Port Royal enjoyed abundant business from both fishermen and from merchants. The town had experienced a near-doubling in population in the past ten years, which had overwhelmed the local sewer system. Even though the streets were filled with street markets bearing fruits, the air was far from sweet or salty. It rankled my nose, nearly as unpleasant as the streets of London.

It had been three months since the _HMS Dauntless_ had arrived in Port Royal. In less than a week, I would be making the return voyage across the Atlantic to England. And upon completion of that return, I would be promoted to Lieutenant.

Two small boys jostled past me in their reckless game of tag. I smiled ruefully, remembering the hours spent with Grace doing the exact same thing. I tried not to think of her, but ever since Commodore Roanoke had imparted his advice upon me nearly three months ago, it had become an everyday occurrence.

I stopped and scanned the offerings of a recently-opened blacksmith's shop. The blacksmith was covered in grime and soot, banging away on a red-hot blade that needed molding. I watched him pound with a large mallet, trying not to think about how much that very process recalled the training that Camden Naval Academy had beat into me.

Years of merciless, relentless training. All for my career. My fists clenched at my sides as I watched him work. So much of my old self had been beaten out by the grit and strenuous work of the Academy. My hands were large and calloused. My shoulders and back were broad, my muscles hard ridges beneath my uniform. I towered at six-foot-one, taller than many of the men who dwelt in the bustling town of Port Royal.

The blacksmith turned and paused in his work, wiping his sweaty brow with the back of his hand. "Can I help you, sir?"

I gazed at him intently. He reminded me very much of Grace's uncle, John Moore, who had supplied the majority of swords to my father and his soldiers. I smiled wistfully, shaking my head.

"Carry on." I said crisply, turning and marching past. I purchased a sweet roll from a small bakery, walking back to the floating ships in the harbor as I ate it. I had little appetite for food tonight. Instead, my thoughts kept drifting toward the thought of home, away from the palm trees of the Caribbean. The air was hot and humid, but I had long since grown accustomed to the stifling heat, especially in my uniform.

It had been so long since I had been to Saint de Lune. Now that I was due to become Lieutenant, I had two goals in mind before I pursued my career in serving the King as a naval officer: return home. Find Grace. Heed Commodore Roanoke's advice and at least put an end to my constant thoughts about Grace. I needed to know if she was married, dead, or had moved on. I had to bring closure before I could move on with my life. It hadn't mattered that Father had put so many miles between us. She had become a part of me, and I couldn't shake off her ghost until I had my answers. Whether or not they were the answers I wanted.

"Pardon me, sir," a crimson-coated soldier asked meekly, interrupting my troubling thoughts, "Commodore Roanoke asked me if you would like to join him for afternoon tea."

I barely hid my sigh of annoyance. The aging man had invited me to supper or tea every day since we had made port, even though we had shared every meal aboard the ship that had carried us over from England. I enjoyed his company to a degree. Lately, the old codger had taken to becoming drunk very quickly and treating me to different tales of his life story. I was thankful for his guidance and his hand in growing me to my level of accomplishment, but my patience with him was wearing thin. And I was anxious to return home across the wide Atlantic Ocean. I didn't want to spend another night listening to a drunken servant of the King lamenting his life choices or trying to predict mine.

"Please send him my regards, but I will be retiring early tonight." I told him. The soldier nodded and set off briskly to deliver my message.

This time I couldn't stop my long sigh of melancholy frustration. I had just doomed myself to another night of constant thoughts centered around my parents and Grace. I couldn't return to London yet. I wouldn't face my father until I had seen Grace for myself and made my own decisions. I couldn't believe he had interfered in my life to the point of stealing my mail from her. I had read every letter she had written on the long voyage to Port Royal, and her words confirmed every unspoken thought I'd ever had about her. It hadn't mattered what Father said, or that her own sire was a pirate. It didn't matter that we hadn't seen each other for the better part of a decade, or that we had an ocean between us.

She was my match. In every way.

I watched a young couple stumble by, laughing gaily. They looked to be only teenagers, barely fifteen or sixteen, but both sported wedding rings and looked obliviously joyful and happy. They raced down to the sandy beach beside the marina and chased each other into the warm water, their laughter echoing up to me on the dock. It reminded me so painfully of my own childhood that I very clearly felt some kind of leash on my self-restraint snap.

Suddenly, I wanted nothing more than to get drunk. I hadn't been drunk since one befouled night at Camden Naval Academy four years ago, when a young officer had stolen a cask of ale from a local ship carrying a cargo-hold full of it (bound for Portugal) and shared it with a group of other young and restless boys. I had paid for my indulgence in the morning with plenty of vomiting and headaches.

But now, all I wanted was to forget everything, to forget my regrets and grievances for a few hours and enjoy the numbing effects of alcohol. I walked into the nearest bar, The Tipsy Crow, and braced myself for the repercussions of what I was about to do.

The moment I pushed open the heavy oak door, I was assaulted with the stench of alcohol, body odor, vomit, sweat, and urine. The air was thick and heavy with it. But it would be well-worth the effects of the strong drink I needed now.

I took a seat at the bar, aware of several pairs of eyes turning to stare at me. It wasn't even sundown yet and a prestigious member of society had descended into the pits of Hell. I drummed my fingers on the dirty wooden counter as a toothless barman appeared, polishing a glass with a rag.

"What'll it be, Sargeant?" He wheezed.

I raised a brow. "That's Lieutenant, to you, sir, and I'll have a glass of oak-matured mead, if you've got it."

"Aye, I do." He rasped, eyeing me beadily. "I hope you've got your sword on you, sir. Got some nasty folk coming about these parts after dark, and it's near sunset."

I grimaced. I would almost welcome a fight to break up the monotony of my life and blow off some pent-up steam. Years of hardcore military training would finally be put to some use. "Yes, thank you, I realize that." I gave him a curt nod, dismissing him. The barman returned a moment later with a mug filled with frothy amber liquid.

I shook my head dispassionately. Commodore Roanoke would have supplied only the finest brandy and red wine at his grand estate. My father would have served champagne and rich Scotch over ice. Now, I was about to drown myself in a mug of cheap ale, an insulting common drink.

I finished two glasses morosely by the time the bar filled up. It hadn't taken long. True to his warning, the moment the sun sank below the horizon through the dusty window, the small bar filled to the seams with loud, dirty working men, who came to drink their cares away after a long day on their feet. I read a sign over the back of the bar that read, " _If you're drinking to forget, remember to pay before ordering."_

I snorted into my third mug of ale as I read it. _The Tipsy Crow_. What a bizarre, peasantry name. I belched as I signaled the barman for a fourth mug. He obliged, watching me beadily as the din in the room rose to a fever-pitch. The noise was so loud that I couldn't form a coherent thought, but then again, that was exactly what I wanted. I didn't want to think anymore. I only wanted to lose myself in the smooth, cold drinks that the ugly little man kept providing.

I had lost count of my drinks by the time that trouble finally came. I knew it was coming. Any man of my rank and stature that dared enter a place of decadence like this was painting a red target on his back. I knew when trouble came, because the raucous laughter and swearing abated and faded into tense silence. I looked beside me, at the newcomer who had dropped into the bar stool like a fat black crow.

He was vaguely familiar. His wild brown hair and bright brown eyes triggered a faint warning before I could think better.

"Do you mind?" I slurred, my vision slightly hazy. I knew it was a mistake to get this inebriated, but then again, what was the worst that could happen? Would a pirate challenge me to a fight? A bubble of laughter escaped me.

The man scratched at his beard. His large hands were heavily scarred and burned, and I almost didn't notice the huge sword sheathed in his belt. I took a messy slurp of drink while the man studied my face intently.

"You're Norrington's boy, aren't you?" He said finally.

I glared at him, hostile at the mention of my father's name. "What's it to you?"

The silence ebbed. More laughter and chatter filled the empty space, and soon the noise filled up my swimming head.

"You shouldn't be here." The man said slowly. He tugged on the end of his short ponytail. "You should be with your mates. Your own kind. Don't you know what this place is?"

"A bar." I laughed. "Am I not good enough to drink?" I slopped half of my drink onto the floor.

The man watched me heavily, but didn't try to take my drink away. He quietly ordered a rum with coconut. He drank his entire glass before speaking to me again, which was fine by me since I felt pleasantly immune to everything.

"Do you know who I am?" He asked, and I groaned.

"Oh, please." I spat. "Don't talk to me. I'd like to be alone, if you don't mind, now that I'm finally drunk."

The man sighed. "I never thought you'd turn out to be a drinker, lad. I reckon my daughter would be fairly disgusted to see you in this sorry state."

I let out a bark of laughter. "Your daughter? What, are you trying to set me up too? All my life, that's all my parents have ever done. 'Try to set me up for success', as they call it. Forcing me into the Academy, taking me away from my home, my best friend. Trying to get me to marry another witless and boring rich girl whose father owns a bank or a fleet of ships or a few hundred plantations." I let out a watery belch and gazed at the face of the man, knowing my eyes were probably bloodshot with morose drunkenness already. "Why should I care what anyone thinks, least of all your daughter?"

The man listened to my spew of vitriol before responding. "Because my daughter is Grace Fisher. And that means-"

"-you're a pirate." I finished, just as I realized what he had just said.

"Look that way." Edward Fisher instructed.

"Why?" I said, swaying in my seat.

"Because," Edward said patiently. "When you vomit, I don't want you to get it on me."

Two seconds later, I retched and threw up all over the floor. The barman shouted something unintelligible while Edward heaved me out of the crowded bar.

"Come on." He said gruffly. "Let's get you some coffee to sober you up."

* * *

Jack was waiting for me when I stormed out of the gates. He blinked in surprise when I flung myself up onto the horse and dug my heels into the horse's flanks. He barely held on as we left the magnificent house and neighborhood behind, coming back down to the hustle and bustle of London.

He pulled me aside and lead me into an alleyway, away from prying eyes. "What happened?"

I hadn't realized I had been crying and dashed away my tears of rage. "He's… he's just… completely, utterly, horribly…"

"Pig-headed and discriminatory." Jack offered. I nodded tightly and fought the urge to sob. All of my waiting and traveling to see James… only to have Admiral Norrington slam the gates in my face.

"Tell me what happened." Jack said, and I opened up.

"...he just… he's a horrible man." I finished after telling him what had just happened in the kitchen. "I can't believe him. It's none of his business. I've always been friends with James. I never would have made him choose between his dream and me!"

Jack watched me calmly as the storm within me blew itself out. I sagged against the wall, drained. I pressed a cold hand to my hot face, struggling to stay on my feet.

"You've got it pretty bad for this Norrington boy, aye?" Jack said at last.

I nodded weakly. "I've loved him for as long as I can remember. I'll love him until the day I die."

Jack whistled, taking a swig of rum from a flask he withdrew from his belt. "Then, say I offered you the chance to be my first mate… you'd say no?"

I frowned, unsure of what he'd just said. "I beg your pardon?"  
Jack folded his arms across his chest, flashing that unnerving smile of his that meant he was up to no good. "Well, dearie, I'm a pirate. I'm old enough to be on my own ship, I think, and I need a crew. And I can't think of anyone better than Edward the Sharkbait's daughter as my second-in-command. You'd have your own quarters, unless you wanted to sleep in my bed." He ducked as I threw a punch at him. He laughed at my outraged expression. "Of course, I'd have to teach you the ropes… but you've got all the ingredients, love. You just need to read the manual."

I stared at him, trying to process his words. _Me?_ Become a pirate? The very idea was completely absurd.

"This Norrington boy may not be waiting for you, just because you're waiting for him, darling." Jack continued, as if he could read my mind. I froze, pain swelling hot and hard inside of me. Hadn't that crossed my mind on several occasions? James' parents had always wanted him well-grounded and settled as quickly as possible. More than likely, he had a wife and maybe even children by now. And he was probably high enough in the King's service that he was across the entire ocean… or even all the way across the world.

"I can see you're torn." Jack sympathized, offering me the flask of rum. I took it numbly and drank once. It was liquid fire and burned all the way down. Coughing, eyes streaming, I handed it back, repulsed.

"People _enjoy_ such a foul drink?" I gasped.

Jack laughed again, taking a hearty swig. "You get used to it. Puts hair on your chest." He eyed me seriously. His brown eyes were startlingly similar to Dad's. I hadn't seen the man in over ten years. Maybe if I went pirating with Jack, I could find him. I could confront him over his decision to abandon me in Saint de Lune. I could make up for our years of lost time.

Or I could start over completely, forsaking James and my whole identity. I knew I wouldn't be able to go back to Saint de Lune as Grace Fisher, escaped and falsely condemned witch. No, I would only be able to return under a new alias, a pirate. I could be the 'Pirate Bride' or 'Red-Handed Scarlet'...

I shook my head. I didn't like the dizzying array of possibilities and opportunities, especially when they were offered to me by the black hands of a pirate.

Jack sighed. "I see you're struggling a bit with your old prejudices. You know, you're half-pirate yourself, love."

"That doesn't mean anything." I retorted, clenching my hands into fists. I closed my eyes, wishing that someone else could make this choice for me. James had his parents to call the shots in every aspect of his life. But I had to make my own decisions. Starting with this one.

Would I take Jack up on his offer and take to the seas and embrace the life my father had left me for? Or would I remain here, alone, and wait for James to come home?

The ring on my hand bit into my palm. My eyes popped open in alarm. How peculiar was it that the opal ring Jack had delivered to me (allegedly from my own father) fit only on my wedding finger?

I bit my lip hard. Even if James never returned… even if I never saw him again… I would never get over him. Every man I ever gave a chance to would never measure up against his formidable character. He had left an impossibly legacy, one that not even Jack could summit.

I exhaled softly. I knew, as tempting as it was to leave, that I had to stay.

"I'm sorry, Jack." I apologized. "But I can't go with you."

I was surprised at the undisguised look of hurt that flashed across his face. I frowned. "Jack?"

Jack cleared his throat, covering for his blunder. "You're really going to waste your life waiting on a ghost?"  
I bristled. "No. I'm going to make my own life. I don't need him or you. I don't need anyone! I've been alone from the start and I think I've done a fair job of keeping myself alive all these years. I'm tired of always being someone's problem! My mother, my father, my family, James… all of them are gone. I can't do this anymore! I need to find myself. I need you to let me go." When Jack leaned down to kiss me, I smacked him across the face.

Jack puckered his lips, my palm print already reddening on his skin. I breathed hard and fast, ashamed at what I'd done, but defensive all the same.

"You're too young for me." I said quietly, trying to calm down. It was heady stuff, knowing that an attractive young man wanted me. "It wouldn't have worked out between us."

Jack grinned halfheartedly. "Three years, love. Not that much of a difference."

"It makes a huge difference."

"You kissed me once. Why not do it again?"

"Because I'm not in love with you."

"Right. You've got the wobbles bad for this Norrington chap. What if I like older women, hmmm?"

"Pirate." I whispered.

Jack chuckled once, rubbing his red cheek. "Half-pirate."

In spite of myself, a smile twitched at my lips. Jack held out his hand. I returned his spinning compass, and he gave me a small ivory whistle in exchange.

"If you ever need me," he said, "whether you're in trouble or lonely-" he narrowly dodged a second slap to the face, "just blow on this. I'll come find you."

I peered at him closely. "How does that work?"

Jack winked. "Trust me, love. It does. It's magic." He folded my fingers over the whistle, his brown eyes clouded with unspoken thoughts.

I felt a twist of aching warmth inside of me. It would be so easy, too easy, to give into my feelings of loneliness and adventure now. I was too vulnerable. I couldn't let Jack take advantage of feelings that weren't truly meant for him.

Jack grinned. "You won't let me kiss you goodbye, will you?"

I studied him hopeful, boyish expression for a long moment. "You may kiss my cheek, Mr. Sparrow, but that is all."

Jack nodded, his smile wolfish. "Of course."

I stretched forward, turning my cheek to his, when Jack turned his face abruptly and pressed his lips onto mine. His facial hair tickled my bare skin, and my heart throbbed hard in my chest. By the time I recovered, he ducked out of the way, laughing, and disappeared into the crowd beside the alley.

I pressed my fingers to my lips, swearing. I trembled with the power of attraction and chemistry. I shut my eyes, leaning against the cold mortar and brick wall, forcing myself not to give in and follow Jack onto the wilderness of the sea.

I counted in my head until I was well-past five-hundred. Then I left the safety of the alley and allowed myself to be pulled away by the tide of people.

I had no idea where I was going or what I was doing. I hadn't prayed in a few weeks. The last time had been when I had been trapped inside of a dungeon cell, awaiting my botched execution for a crime I hadn't committed. Maybe now was the time to consider prayer again.

Even worse, I was almost three-hundred miles from that predicament, and feeling just as overwhelmed and lost.

What on Earth was I going to do? Admiral Norrington didn't want me around at his house or anywhere near his family. That included Katherine Norrington and their preciously guarded son James. Jack was leaving port. Probably right now. Other than those four, I didn't know a single soul in London.

I fought panic by letting the tide of people carry me through the streets of London. The city stank of human filth and rotting garbage, and I longed for the sweet scent of fruit and salty tang of fresh air of Saint de Lune. My eyes kept darting to the vast expanse of blue, hoping vainly that James would appear.

The sun began to sink lower in the sky. I had been wandering around the city all day, trying to think of a plan to support myself. I could feel the curious and sometimes malevolent stares of passersby as I walked. I couldn't stay out alone like this over night. Too many violent men would take advantage of the situation. I bit my lip, knowing that I would be safe if I could make it up to the Norrington's affluent and well-guarded neighborhood.

But could I? Would Admiral Norrington have me thrown into prison, just as Admiral Ghent had? I fought to control the rising tide of panic. I didn't have a plan. I didn't have a place to sleep. My one ticket out of here was probably long-gone, sailed into the horizon with a band of rag-tag pirates.

 _God._ I prayed, desperate. _Please. I need you. Help me!_

I walked around for another hour, the sun baking my exposed skin, before deciding to give up. I was starving and hadn't eaten much all day. My feet ached, and a cool wind blew off the water. I shivered and pushed the door open in the nearest building. I barely registered the fact that it was brick and had two large, inviting windows before I crossed the threshold.

My eyes didn't have to adjust much. The fading sunlight streamed in and illuminated a cathedral-ceilinged (but small) white room, filled with a few cushy-looking booths and a row of stools resting in front of a counter alongside one wall. Across the counter was a kitchen station.

I approached hesitantly. A few impatient-looking customers (mostly working-class, from the looks of them) tapped empty ceramic mugs against the table surfaces. No one had any plates. I hesitated at the atmosphere. It was charged with tension and anger.

A huge red-haired man with a grizzled beard and a noticeable limp shuffled out from behind the counter. He cleared his throat loudly. The diners looked up, expectant.

"If anyone wants biscuits, beans, or bread, we've got that."

The diners got up and left.

Dejected, the huge man slumped over in a bar chair, apparently oblivious to my presence. I pinched at a random spot on my worn tunic. Had I really lost that much weight? Did I look like a ghost?

The man was mumbling to himself, and I realized when I approached him that he was _praying._ Startled, I tapped him once on the shoulder. He jerked back, making me squeak with fright.

His large blue eyes found me and pinned me in place. Then he sighed heavily. "Can I help you, miss?"

My stomach growled loudly. "I'd like to have some of your fare, if that's alright. I haven't eaten all day."

The man nodded once and got to his feet. He disappeared for a moment and returned with a plate that held a tiny biscuit, holed bread, and a mess of what I hoped was beans. I took a mouthful and sighed in relief. It tasted like manna from Heaven after a long day of desolate and fruitless job-searching.

"You must be starved to be enjoying that slop." The man said dispassionately. He passed me a goblet of water, which I accepted gratefully. I could feel him peering at me, as if trying to place me. I finished my plate and asked for seconds.

"I'm afraid that's all I have left for the day." The man told me sadly, getting up and turning the sign on his glass front door to 'Closed'. He shoved his hands into his pockets and studied me again. "I'm sorry, lass, but I feel like I know you from somewhere."

I shrugged. "I'm nobody, I'm afraid. I'm from a tiny seaport up the coast and I don't have anyone in my lineage that you would know."

The man let out a sudden gasp of recognition. I stared at him, bewildered.

"You're the Fisher girl!" He said at last, grinning. "Aye, you've grown up a lot since I last saw you. I'm Tom O'Donohue. I worked with your father Edward on a ship!"

I raised a brow coldly. "Does that mean you were a pirate, sir?"

Tom's face froze. Then he shrugged. "Aye, I was. In the past. I've made a new life for myself since then. I jumped ship here about ten years ago. Started up a business for myself. Everything's been going well, except for the fact that my cook Oliver died in the kitchen a month ago. Holding a sack of flour, of all things. Poor bloke. Must have been too much of a strain for him. I've been trying to replace him, but no one's got Oliver's touch. He was a magician with food, I tell you." He trailed off, forlorn. He met my gaze, and I was surprised at the twinge of pity I felt for him. An ex-pirate, of all things.

"What brings you here, lass? You waiting on a man?"

I blushed crimson. "No… I mean, not exactly. I'm trying to make a life of my own." I too had skeletons in my closet, things in my life that I wanted to leave behind.

Tom raised a thick brow. "Can you cook?"

I gave an unladylike snort. "I helped feed three men and two women at my house for my whole life! I can cook. But I don't know if I can cook for a whole restaurant."

But Tom looked excited. "What kinds of things, lass? Can you make bread?"

I gave him an insulted look. "I can bake bread, pies, pastries, meats, pastas, curries… I may not have had a lot growing up, sir, but I assure you: I was taught well."

"Then you're hired!" Tom said exuberantly. "If you want the job, of course."

It must have been my dumbfounded expression, because Tom's smile faltered. "Unless… you don't want it?"

I shook my head. This was all happening too fast. "I'm afraid I don't have any living quarters, sir."

"That's not a problem!" Tom almost shouted, looking gleeful. "Come on. I'll show you your living arrangements." I followed him hesitantly up a staircase that wound onto the second floor. He gestured around the open flat. "This is where I live. You're up one more floor, in the tower."

I followed the direction of his gaze. Filled with misgivings, I approached the rickety, extremely narrow dark brown staircase that turned sharply at a tiny landing. It was barely wide enough for me to walk through, and the air was heavy and hot. At the top was a nearly black wooden door with a dirty brass knob. I pushed it open, revealing a small circular room with tiny glass windows embedded at every angle. It offered a stunning view of the Thames River and the portside section of London. When I wrenched open a window that squealed and protested with disuse, a startlingly fresh blast of air wafted into the room. I sighed in relief. As long as I kept the windows open, the stench of London wasn't so bad. And even though the quarters themselves were tiny, it was still a roof over my head, walls around me, and a hard floor beneath me. If I accepted the job, I wouldn't have to worry about my safety if I slept in the streets or doorways. I wouldn't have to grovel at the Norrington's feet like a stray dog begging for scraps.

In spite of the circumstances, I felt a swell of pride. I was a woman on my own. And I could take care of myself. I did not need a man.

I descended the staircase like a queen bee navigating her way through her claustrophobic hive. Tom was waiting, looking nervous and excited at the same time. His large hands were fidgeting non-stop.

"Aye?" He prompted hopefully. "So, what do you think? You cook for me seven days a week, from five a.m. until five p.m., and you get free room and board and all the food you can eat. Did you see the two locks on the door? I'm a God-fearing man, Miss Fisher, and I have no ill intentions here. All I need a working business relationship with a smart, hard-worker, and here you are, dropped right down from Heaven into my cafe." His blue eyes were feverish with desperate hope and longing. "What say you?"

I had long since learned to haggle and recognized the opportunity at once. I folded my arms slowly, lifting my chin a notch. "I work four days a week."

"Six."

"Five."

"Done."

"Also," I continued, "I will not be working twelve hours per day. I will work nine hours and no more. I expect an hour-long break at midday. Either that, or we can split up a twelve-hour day into two separate six-hour portions. You choose, Mr. O'Donohue."

Tom chewed his lip, grinning. "You may not like to hear this, lass, but you're your father's daughter, all right. I reckon you could convince a sailor to buy a cup of seawater and he'd never think twice about it. I agree to your terms."

"Last thing." I said quickly, interrupting him. "You must make sure I am not taken advantage of by troublesome men out to ruin a girl's virtue. Can I expect you to protect my purity and maintain a safe working safe?"

Tom eyed me beadily. "You've got the makings of a Queen, you do. Or a ship Captain."

I didn't smile. I held my ground, waiting. I knew the first one to break the silence would be the one who gave in.

Tom slapped a large hand on his thigh. "Alright, Miss Fisher. You've got a deal."

"Draw up a contract." I said, lips twitching. "And let's make it official."

By the end of the night, I had my own living quarters, a steady job, and a new tunic I had purchased with the small advance Tom had given me. I put the rest of the money underneath my bed, vowing to set aside as many savings as I could. Someday, when I had the money, maybe I would open my own cafe or bed and breakfast. I would do something. I had escaped the hangman's noose with the help of a pirate. I knew how short life was, and intended to live it to the fullest.

And best of all, I hadn't needed James or Jack to help me. I hadn't needed a man at all.


	12. The Pirate Lord

**Welcome back to Grace and James' tale! I should have posted a hiatus notice, but I completely spaced and forgot. In the past half a year, I've been working through my bachelor's degree, moving across the country, losing my boyfriend, and dealing with fun grown-up stuff. Gotta love college life. I hope everyone enjoys the story and the next installment in the tale of Grace and James. More to come soon :) Hiatus is officially over.**

* * *

"I imagine," Edward said as he lead me down the deserted street onto a creaking ship moored in the dock, "you have some questions for me."

I stopped to vomit again over the gangplank into the bay. "You would be correct." I said, spitting into the shimmering black water below.

Edward steered me aboard the ship, which bobbed slightly in the harbor. He lead me inside of the captain's quarters, lighting an ivory pipe and inhaling a deep drag. He puffed out sweet-smelling clouds of smoke, patchouli. While I staggered around the room, he brewed coffee. I stared at a world map mounted on one wall and little red x-marks that marred it. He had trinkets littered all over the place. On walls, shelves, his desk, even the floor. Rolls of parchment rested against one wall, while a parrot cage swung from the ceiling beams. A blood-red macaw glared at me beadily from the perch, ruffling his feathers and opening his beak for attack.

"Barnaby, my parrot," Edward explained, placing two mugs of black coffee on his scarred desk. Most of the room was decorated in some color of red or another. It resembled Commodore Roanoke and Father's quarters on their respective ships, but this one lacked the same sense of organization, of style. It was a pirate's chamber.

"How'd you like my ship?" Edward asked as he sat down in his throne-like chair. He took a sip of coffee, watching me with those bright brown eyes. They were so bright, like flames were behind them.

I took a sip of coffee, more than anything to chase away the bitter aftertaste of vomit. I was still dizzy and my stomach lurched at the coffee. I gritted my teeth until the nausea passed.

"This is _your_ ship?" I retorted, looking around in disgust. "It should be at the bottom of the Atlantic. Who you'd steal it from?"

"Admiral Ghent, about ten years ago or so." He replied, adding whiskey to his coffee. "Want to tell me what you were doing in a bar like that?"

I glowered at him, still unsteady. I felt like I was floating on the water, when I was sitting stationary in a pirate's chair. Struggling to focus, I took a deeper swig of the coffee. I grimaced. "No cream or sugar?"

"No." Edward said. "You need to sober up, not enjoy an evening cup of coffee. Drink."

I swayed in my seat, closing my eyes until the next wave of dizziness passed. "I could hang you for this."

Edward let out a gruff laugh. "And why's that?"

I noticed that he had six or seven silver piercings in each ear, and a long scar running from one eyebrow down to the corner of his mouth. His beard was shot through with silver flecks. Edward Fisher had aged in his ten years away at sea. He looked much worse for the wear than the last time we'd seen each other.

"Because," I hiccuped, "you kidnapped an officer of the King _and_ you stole an Admiral's ship." I frowned, then added, "not to mention you abandoned your only child. In my book, that's the worst thing you've ever done."

I smirked as I saw the pain cross Edward's battle-scarred face. He added more whiskey to his coffee and drank deeply. He set his mug down hard enough to make Barnaby squawk. His brown eyes were flat and dark as he regarded me. "You're much too like your father, boy. That jackass never learned when to shut his fat mouth either."

I rose to my feet unsteadily, drawing my sword with shaking hands. "Say that again, and I'll cut you from navel to nose."

Edward looked bored. "Put that away, boy, before you poke your eye out. You're too drunk to stand, let alone fight. And I've been gutting men since before you were even sucking at your mother's breast. Sit."

His last word was an order. It galled me to do so, but I sat. I clumsily sheathed my sword and folded my arms across my chest, glaring at him. He was so unlike his daughter in features, but I recognized the same hard stubbornness and unusual authority. I looked around his cabin again, unimpressed. "So, this is your ship, is it?"

"Yes." Edward said, pouring me more coffee. "If you didn't already know, I'm a Pirate Lord. One of the nine. I'm sure you've heard of me by now. 'Edward the Sharkbait'. That's what they like to call me. I started out on Captain Teague's ship, but after I left Grace, it was time for me to start my own course. I've had this beauty in my possession ever since." He regarded me over his desk. "And how has the Naval Academy treated you? Clearly they haven't taught you how to hold your liquor."

I burped at his words, laughing without any trace of humor. "Funny that you'd say that. I'm no drunkard scallywag like you and your fellows, but I can assure you, Edward, I'm not afraid of you."

"You should be." Edward said simply. I bristled at his words.

" _You_ should be glad I'm too drunk to fight." I shot back. "After what you did to Grace…"

Edward shook his head. "A hypocrite, just like your father. Don't you realize? You're guilty of the very same thing, Lieutenant. Or is it Captain now?"

"It's Lieutenant for now." I told him in a frosty tone.

Edward nodded once. "Alright. Well then, Lieutenant Norrington, don't you think it's a little odd of you to say that to me? Considering _you_ left Grace for the same reasons? For your own glory? Except, I _didn't_ leave to become a Pirate Lord. Unlike you, I left Grace because I had to protect her. And leaving her in Saint de Lune with my sister was the best thing for her."

I fought the rising guilt and nausea. "You don't love her."

"And you do?"

I glared at him, fighting my hot temper. I wanted to slash the smirk from his scarred face, but I knew as well as he did that I was drunk out of my mind. There was no way I could fight, let alone do him any serious injury. I would only end up hurting myself.

"You don't need to answer my question." Edward said in an indifferent tone. He sipped his drink thoughtfully, appraising me with those intense brown eyes. "You've grown up indeed, James."

"You said I could ask you a few questions." I countered. "Tell me, then… who is Grace's mother? What happened to her?"

Edward's eyes flashed dangerously. "Does that really concern you?"

"She doesn't even know if you're her real father or not. Well? Are you? Or did you pick her up off the seashore in Saint de Lune out of your saintly character?" I couldn't keep the sneering sarcasm from my voice, and it showed in the pirate's face.

"Grace is my daughter." He said in a tone of awful finality. "Make no mistake about that."

I knew he was right. They shared many characteristics, but hardly anything in looks. "Then what happened to her mother?"

Edward narrowed his eyes. "I don't know. She could be dead for all I know. All I knew was that she feasted upon my heart and left me with our baby to raise. She abandoned her, just like she abandoned me."

"Who was she?" I pressed. "Surely no one of great importance?"

"Like your own mother, you mean?" Edward responded coldly.

I bristled at his remark. "Who is she?"

"As I said, all I know is that her name was Opal. We spent one summer together, and then she was gone. She told me to wait on the western shore of Saint de Lune. During the full moon. Nearly a year later, I showed up at the precise hour. She did not appear. But the child did."

There was something else he wasn't telling me. Something big. "You never saw her?"

"No." Edward drained his cup and refilled it. He drank a second time, his face stony.

"Who are _you?_ " I asked, changing tactic, knowing he wouldn't divulge any more information about Grace's mother.

"A pirate, obviously. Captain of this ship."

"And what else?" I pressed.

"I hold one of the nine pieces of eight." Edward informed me in a slow voice. "Do you understand what that means?"

I glared at him, fighting the stupor that was trying to overpower me. "That you aren't skilled in the realm of mathematics?"

"It means," Edward said, tossing a wooden eyeball onto the table, "that I am a Pirate Lord. One of the Brethren Court."

* * *

Six months had passed since Tom had hired me. In half a year, I had amassed a considerable amount of savings. Customers spread word of fresh food and soon the little cafe had a queue before opening hours and many had to be turned away after closing. Tom raked in so much gold and silver that he was able to hire another girl, who was designated to be my assistant.

"Poor mates," Tom said in sympathy as I passed him a plate of fresh fruit, "come in with scurvy and sell their souls for snake oil at the apothecary down the street, when all they really need is some good food and rest."

I watched the dining area of the cafe from the safety of the kitchen. It was crammed with customers from all walks of life: from the grimy sailors to the wealthy merchants and bankers. Tom hadn't liked how the men stared at me or the new girl, Charity, so he'd insisted that we remain in the kitchen while we were open while he would handle the patrons. I hadn't taken him seriously until a dark-skinned Egyptian from a cargo ship had pulled at my arm a month after opening while I was passing by with a tray of food. He had smiled with lemon-yellow teeth (most were missing) and loudly asked Tom how many goats he would accept in trade for me as a bride.

Tom had come over with a meat cleaver raised, but it hadn't been necessary. I had 'accidentally' dropped the tray over the man's head and knocked him out cold. His friends had laughed and carried the still-unconscious man out of the cafe after they'd finished eating and paid their fare.

"I don't want you out there anymore." Tom had said sternly. "I know you can handle yourself lass, but what if I hadn't been there? What if you'd been overpowered?"

"I would have fought them off." I told him valiantly, but inside, I shivered. I hadn't had proper instruction in combat for years, not since I would go to the Norrington Manor and spar with James. Even though I had won nearly every wrestling match against James, there were times when he'd had enough and had overpowered me. The truth was, no matter how much I wanted to fight, if a fully-grown man wanted to overpower a woman, she was going down. If she didn't have a weapon, or if she was outnumbered. So as much as I hated to admit it, Tom was right.

Soon after that, he'd hired Charity, a girl a couple years younger than me. I had met her at the local church down by the docks, where most of the poorer working class congregated. I enjoyed listening to the pastor, who often worked himself into a fit (he would always spit and get red-faced) when preaching about repenting from sin and devoting one's life fully to God. The Sunday after the Egyptian had tried to buy me as a wife, I had noticed a strikingly beautiful blonde girl sitting in the very back of the building, normally where I would sit with Tom. Tom was so massive that he usually parted a crowd without trying, but he disliked the inevitable exodus en masse after the sermon was over, and liked to leave as soon as the pastor bowed his head for the closing prayer and dismissal.

The girl looked like I had looked when I had left _The Misty Lady_. Bedraggled, thin, worn, and desperate. But there was a stout determination in her posture, a look of defiance against her poverty. I couldn't stop looking at her. I felt a small voice whispering to me throughout the service to talk to her. To corner her before she left so that I could try to help her.

Pastor Michael was just bowing his head when I darted for the girl, who was dipping her head like the rest of the congregation. Tom was already leaving, his weight making the wooden pew creak ominously.

"I beg your pardon, but my name is Grace." I whispered to the girl. Her eyes flew open and she turned to stare at me. First in surprise, then in suspicion.

"Can I help you?" She whispered back, her voice filled with mistrust.

"Actually, I was wondering if I could help _you._ "

The girl's face flickered. I noticed the gooseflesh on her skin, the tears and fades in her tunic. She looked suddenly vulnerable and frightened.

"No." She whispered back, not looking at me. "I'm fine."

"No you're not." I retorted quietly. "Come with me. I can get you some food, and we'll talk."

She hadn't had the strength to resist, since I'd physically dragged her from the church back to the cafe, which was only a quarter mile from the church. We were typically closed on Sundays for rest, but I retrieved a small loaf of bread from the kitchen, along with butter, apple, and coffee with cream. The girl's eyes widened in shock at the food I presented to her.

"Cream?" She said in a trembling voice. "Butter?"

"We're doing alright." I said, grinning. She reminded me so much of my cousin Mary that my heart twisted inside of me. Mary was dark-haired and olive-skinned, whereas Charity was fair-skinned and blonde, but I could see the same determination and stamina of spirit within them. I hadn't seen my family in nearly a year. I wondered how they were doing. If they were safe.

"I can't accept this." The girl said, pushing away the plate. Her growling stomach gave her away, and hot color filled her sallow cheeks.

"Feed the wolf in your belly before you save your pride." I told her, shaking my head. I blessed the food quickly and the girl tucked in.

"What's your name?" I asked as she devoured the bread and washed it down with the coffee.

"Charity." She said, sinking her teeth into the crisp apple. "Charity Sweets."  
"Sweets?"

Her gaze slid away. "That's my new last name. It used to be Schuyler, before I lived on the streets."

As I refilled her mug with fresh coffee and offered her a second apple, she continued to talk. It was like the lancing of a boil. I listened as she confessed that she had sold herself as a prostitute to a local brothel after her father was lost at sea and her mother died of consumption a few months later. Her older sister had married a wealthy merchant who lived in Nice, France, and her two older brothers had sailed to the New World before their parents had died. She was left all alone, and had saved herself from death by selling her body and soul to a foul woman who owned the brothel.

"Her name is Dolores Gibson, but everyone calls her the Baroness. She has this horrible man who guards me and the other girls… she only lets us have one day off a week, and she usually makes us work anyway. I was lucky to get to church this week. I haven't been in months."

My sympathy quickly turned to burning anger. "Where is this brothel?"

"It's called the Open Arms Inn. It's near the docks."

"I've heard of it." I said flatly. I took her hand firmly. "Listen to me. You don't have to go back there."

Charity looked at me bleakly, her blue eyes hopeless. "I have to. If I don't go back, Wes will come for me."

"Wes?"

"Her bodyguard. He makes sure we don't run away and he keeps the clients from taking too much time." Her gaze skittered away. "I've done so many horrible things…"

My heart broke for her. If Tom hadn't taken me in, could I have been in her predicament? Sold to prostitution, bound to a short and brutal life of faceless men who took a piece of me with them each time they visited?

"Wes hasn't met Tom." I told her firmly. "Tom's half-giant, I swear. You can live here, Charity."

"I can't. I already told you, he'll come here and kill me."

I took both of her wrists down. "Do you believe that God is bigger than Wes?"

Her pale tear-streaked face was stricken. "Y-yes." She stammered.

"Then don't worry. Let God handle him." I embraced her, and the poor girl broke down completely. I wondered if she'd ever allowed herself to cry before.

Tom had come into the cafe then, his hands dirty from working in the vegetable garden out back. "Grace, I've just been in the garden and heard the Lord saying we need to hire someone else… who is this?"

"Tom," I said grandly, "meet our new friend, Charity."

That had been five months ago, and we had needed Charity desperately. The cafe had become so popular that it took the three of us to run the place. Charity had learned very quickly from my instruction on how to cook. She had a knack for baking, and her pies soon surpassed mine in flavor and in popularity. I taught her how to sew and hem as Aunt Angela had taught me. Soon we were buying bolts of fabric from the mercantile across the street and making our own clothes from patterns of gingham, tartan, and wool. She and I shared my small flat above the cafe while Tom lived downstairs. For awhile, life was smooth and good.

Except for the fact that James haunted me like a ghost.

No matter how busy my life was, I carried his memory with me like my necklace and ring. I managed not to think of him constantly, but every day, I saw his face in my mind. Sometimes I would recall our memories, other times I would envision what our future might have looked like if he had stayed in Saint de Lune. I couldn't shake his father's cruel words of warnings, but it didn't matter. James was my constant companion, no matter where he was. He was with me every day, carried within my heart, as permanent as the tattoos I saw on the pirates who occasionally frequently the cafe. I knew I would never see him again, but I had accepted the reality of the situation. It simply didn't matter. I loved him, and I always had. I always would. I would carry our sweet memories to the grave, and my love for him would stay with me until the very end.

I was still standing in the kitchen doorway, lost in my reverie, when Charity shook me gently. "Grace?"

I blinked several times. "Sorry, Charity." I gave her a small smile. In the past months, she had filled out and was even more lovely than before. She was the most beautiful woman I had ever seen, even more beautiful than Lady Katherine, James' mother. "What did you say?"

"Tom wanted me to ask you who that man is." Charity said in my ear, pointing to a splendidly-dressed middle-aged man sitting in the booth closest to the door. He was watching me over a cup of coffee. He was alone.

"Oh, I know who he is." I said dryly.

"Good." Charity said in relief. "Because he's been staring at you for almost ten minutes. Who is he?"

I had shared some of my past with Charity, including James. He had been such a big part of my life that he spilled over into my present and future. She knew that I was an orphan, with questionable parentage, and the possibility of having a pirate for a father. I still wasn't sure if Dad was my real father after all.

But I knew exactly who that man was, staring at me without the least trace of remorse or softness. My hands balled into fists at my sides.

"That, Charity," I said quietly, voice trembling with indignation, "would be Admiral Norrington."

* * *

"Pirate Lord?" I echoed, the gentle sway of the ship not helping with my rising headache at all. "What do you mean, 'Pirate Lord'? I've never heard of a Brethren Court."

"I'm not surprised." Edward replied, pouring me another cup of coffee. "Drink this. I want you sobered up by the time I return you to shore."

I obeyed, galled at having to listen to a pirate. A Pirate _Lord_ of all things!  
"The Brethren Court exists much like your Navy does." Edward began. "Like your Admirals, we have Lords. Pirates who govern over the others. A hierarchy of nobility, if you will."

"Oh, spare me." I snorted. "There is no nobility among pirates."

"The Court began several hundred years ago." Edward went on, as if he couldn't hear me. "When we bound Calypso into human form."

I stared at him. "Calypso is nothing more than a myth. She's a legend, like sea monsters and mermaids."

"Mermaids exist." Edward said softly. "As does Calypso."

"You lie." I shot back.

"Grace's mother was a mermaid." Edward told me, without any hint of joking, and that was when my tentative hold on my drunken temper snapped.

I leapt to my feet, drawing my sword clumsily and pointing it at him. "You _scoundrel!_ You filthy swilling liar! And I suppose you're going to tell me that Grace herself is a mermaid? Or that I'm the captain of the Flying Dutchman?" I laughed without a trace of humor.

"Actually, that would be Davy Jones," Edward corrected.

"To hell with Davy Jones!" I roared. "You liar. So now that you've dropped that little bombshell, what's next? How can I give anything you say any credit if you lie so easily?"

"There is a whole other world out there, if you just know how to look for it." Edward said calmly, his brown eyes intense. They were almost red in the candlelight, his grizzled beard speckled with gray and silver. I had gone through years of training, years of learning how to fight and how to read body language. I could sort out liars from the truth-tellers with a glance.

Nothing he had said was a lie. Either that, or he was stark raving mad.

"You're mad." I decided, shaking my head furiously, my brain swimming in the mixture of coffee, alcohol and adrenaline. "You're a mad old pirate. You abandoned your daughter and for what? For myths and legends?"

"For her own protection." Edward responded, and I could hear the pain in his voice this time. "I love her more than you could ever imagine."

"I'll bet." I snarled. "You aren't the only one who loves her."

"Then you know why I left." Edward said. "Because sometimes you must leave behind those you love because it's the best thing for them. You left Grace, and for what? For your own glory? I left my daughter in the safety of her family because she had no business being aboard a pirate ship. She had no business having me for a father."

"You're damn right she didn't." I snapped.

"Grace is bound to a destiny you can't even imagine." Edward said quietly. "She bears a touch of destiny upon her. If you could only open your eyes, you would see the other world that exists within and around your own comfortable realm of rules, ships, and wigs."

"You're mad." I repeated, shaking my head bitterly.

"You can believe that if you'd like. But the sooner you come to grips with the truth, the better." Edward checked a small pocket watch, stowing the wooden eyeball back into his coat. "It's nearly dawn. I'll bring you back to your own quarters. It isn't safe for a drunken young servant of the king to be wandering around outside Port Royal after dark."

I allowed a small chuckle. "I've been trained for years, _Captain_ Edward. I can handle myself."

"Think of it as a fatherly gesture, then." Edward said, rising to his feet. He escorted me from the dark ship. Even though the hour was late, I had the unpleasant sensation of being watched as we disembarked down the gangplank and into the gloomy streets of Port Royal.

We didn't speak until we reached Commodore Roanoke's grand house. The iron wrought gate was shut, but I knew that I merely had to whistle and the guard would allow me inside.

"Listen to me, James," Edward said in a low voice full of urgency, "you may not believe me or remember this night, but there is something you _must_ not forget."

"Oh?" I hiccuped drunkenly. "And what might that be, Captain?"

Edward grabbed my arm, but I was too drunk to push him away. The coffee hadn't helped me at all. But as I stared lazily into his hard face, the grin melted off of my face. For a fleeting moment, I felt like I was staring back into Grace's heartbroken face the night I told her I was leaving Saint de Lune for good.

"You must find my daughter." Edward told me fiercely. "If you love her as you say you do, you must find her. Protect her. I don't think it was any coincidence that you and Grace bonded so closely in your youth. Your skills can protect her from the evils of this world, and of what's to come to her."

I stared into his face, a twinge of amusement flickering inside of me. "Is this your way of giving me your blessing to ask for her hand in marriage?"

Edward's face softened. "Yes." He said quietly, clasping my hand and squeezing it once. I felt defiled, after being touched so familiarly by a pirate scum, but I remembered that this was also Grace's father. _Probably_ her father.

"Very well, then." I chuckled, sighing. I looked out across the lawn of Commodore Roanoke's grand manor. "Thanks for the talk, Captain…"

But when I turned back to bid him farewell, he was gone.


	13. Turn of the Tides

**What does Admiral Norrington want? When will James come home? Well, we're about to find out! I apologize for any minor errors in this script.. I pushed it all out within a few hours and since it's 2 am, my editing skills are almost at zero. Enjoy and please forgive me for any little mistakes :)**

* * *

I met the cool blue gaze of Admiral Norrington squarely as I walked across the cafe, feeling like a condemned criminal facing down a hungry lion in an arena. My heart drummed a war beat within my chest, but I did not falter. I was tired of allowing my feelings to interfere with my life. I would no longer permit his station to dictate how I felt about his son, or how I would face him.

Admiral Norrington gestured to the table. He was dressed in commoner's clothes, without any sign of his high rank. He had even taken off his powdered white wig, and I could see lines of gray streaked through his brown hair underneath his hat. "Grace, sit."

I poured more coffee into his half-empty mug. "Would you care for more cream or sugar, sir?" I asked dryly, acting like I hadn't heard him.

Admiral Norrington sighed. "I'm not here to cause a fight, Grace. Have a seat." He grimaced as if it was causing him pain to be polite, then added, "please."

I wanted to dump the pot of coffee over his head. This man was the reason why I hadn't seen James in over half a decade. He was the reason why he was an entire ocean apart from me, and why I had spent so many lonely years without him. "I'd rather rot."

I turned away to march back into the kitchen and demand Tom throw him out, but then Admiral did something he hadn't done since I was a little girl: he reached out and clasped my wrist. I whirled around, my arm holding the coffee pot twitching as I fought the impulse to dump the coffee over him.

"Grace," Admiral Norrington said quietly, "Please. If not for me, then for James."

Glaring at him like he was a roach, I slammed down the coffee pot onto the table and sat down hard. I sat back regally, fixing him with the coldest glare I could muster. I could feel the blood rushing in my ears, and I hid my trembling hands beneath the table, cold as ice. Even though he didn't look like it right now, Admiral Norrington was one of the most respected and powerful men in the country, and he could order my death or flogging with a mere snap of his fingers. I was walking on very dangerous ground, but somehow, I didn't care. I was afraid, but I knew I wasn't nearly as afraid of him as I ought to have been.

Admiral Norrington exhaled loudly, sipping his black coffee. He made a face at the bitter taste, but didn't ask for cream or sugar. Instead, he set the mug down with a soft thud onto the table and looked squarely at me. I trembled harder. I felt like I was facing a firing squad.

"I've done a lot of thinking in the past six months," Admiral Norrington began in a voice weary with resignation. "After much pondering and study, I've come to the conclusion that you were correct about several things. And that I was woefully wrong in how I handled the situation of you and my son."

I stared at him, the blood pounding harder in my ears.

"You have every right to be angry with me." Admiral Norrington continued. "When I was courting Katherine, her parents initially disapproved of me. They believed that we were a mismatch. They wanted her to marry someone else, a banker or an heir to a family fortune. Her parents didn't want her to marry a seaman. At the time, I was just an officer with grand dreams, much like James. My son has far exceeded my success, and already, at his age, he's about to become a Captain.

"I admit that I felt you were wrong-suited for my James. You're a peasant, a commoner. The daughter of a pirate, for Heaven's sake. But please, don't look at me like that. I have realized that your station should not define you. I have heard of how hard you've worked, of how strong you've been, how independent. Katherine especially wished for me to speak to you, but I still feel as if you may not be ready for what I have to offer you. I do not know if this kind of life will be the one you will want."

All of this was happening too fast, but instead of yelling, I said, "What are you offering, exactly?"

Admiral Norrington looked hesitant. "Katherine would like to bring you into our home. She would like to train you as a debutante, to prepare you for a life that you would have should you choose to marry James. His ship returns home at the end of May, in three months' time. I won't stop you two from seeing each other. I won't interfere. However, I feel it fair to warn you that a life as James' wife will not be anything like you have experienced before. Katherine knows what must go into being an Admiral's wife, and since we cannot stop you two from doing what you will, we feel it best to take you under our wings and prepare you for your life as James' wife."

This was happening too fast. My brain felt like a bruised and battered loaf of bread, like a scorched bun that Tom had thrown to the floor in frustration.

Admiral Norrington had been so against me, against me and James, that he had taken extreme measures to ensure we had been apart. But now, he was not only granting me his blessing, but he was now wanting me to move into their grand manor and be trained personally by James' mother for a life of luxury, balls, frivolous feasts, gowns, and children.

It was happening much too fast.

"You don't have to decide at this very moment." Admiral Norrington said quietly, sipping his coffee. "I wanted to speak to you personally, and I await your response within a fortnight. You know where the house is, I presume?"

"Considering I've broken in before, I'd say yes," I said sarcastically before I could think better of it.

Admiral Norrington raised a brow. I could practically read his mind: _A lady of class doesn't speak her mind. She is silent and elegant._

But I was none of those things. Oh, _how_ would this ever work?

"It's the house at the very top of the hill, at the highest point in the city." Admiral Norrington said formally, rising to his feet. He had barely touched his coffee. "I look forward to your response, Grace Fisher."

He left a handful of fat gold coins on the table as he exited the cafe. I stared after him, trembling harder than ever. I picked up a single coin, staring at it. One coin alone was worth a month's pay. He had left six.

Hands shaking, I put the coins into my apron and picked up his nearly full coffee mug and brought it back to the kitchen. Charity was upon me at once.

"What did he want?" She demanded hotly, her pretty face flushed with indignant rage. "The nerve of that man! What right does he have to come here and talk to you? I bet he had quite the experience dropping down into our station! Oh, if he comes back in here…"

"Charity, please," I said weakly, washing the mug with obsessive compulsion. "Let it go."

"What did he want?" she asked. "Why did he look so grim? He looked like he was about to ask for your soul!"

"It's private." I told her firmly, my voice stronger than I felt. Charity looked like I'd slapped her. We had no secrets between us, but this was different. With just a few minutes, Admiral Norrington had offered me a choice that could change the entire direction of my life. On one road, I could continue down the path I was already on. I would work for Tom and earn enough money to one day leave London and return to Saint de Lune, opening my own cafe or bed-and-breakfast and hope James would find me. I would be with my family again. I would be in familiar territory, my comfort zone.

 _But can I go back?_ I wondered sadly. _They think I'm a witch._

If not Saint de Lune, then another village. Or I could assume a new identity. Somehow, I would find a way to make it work.

On the new road, I would live as James' wife, if he and I decided to marry. Assuming his ship wasn't attacked or sunk by pirates. My stomach clenched painfully at the horrible thought. If he made it back to London and found me living in his parent's house, what kind of life would we have? Would it be full of frills and lace? Would it be just as poised and perfect as Katherine and Lawrence made it out to be?

Frightened, I knew only one place I could go right now and feel safe: the church. Hands cold and entire body shaking, I gave Charity a wan smile and patted her hand. "I'm sorry, Charity. Please tell Tom I'm leaving for the day."

"Where are you going?" Charity asked, alarmed. "Grace, you look ill."

"Just tell him, alright? I can handle myself. God is with me." I snatched my cloak from a peg on the wall and drew it over myself so that the hood covered my red hair. "I'll be back by midnight."

"Grace!" Charity protested, but I had already swept out through the back door and hurried down to the very church I had found Charity. Even though it was a Friday, the doors were never locked and I entered, slightly breathless and still quivering. The inside of the church was quiet and dim, so different from the bustling hive of activity at the cafe. I sat in the front row, bowing my head and giving into my grief.

Father Michael settled beside me, the pew sighing softly under his familiar weight. He pushed back the hood to my cloak gently. "What troubles you, my child?"

"Oh, Father," I wept, unable to cease the torrent of tears. "I'm so confused. I don't know what to do." I poured out all of my thoughts to him, the intense love I had always held for James, the fear of leaving behind the safety of the cafe, the sheer terror of the unknown future, looming before me like a black thunderstorm. "I don't know what to do!"

Father Michael handed me a handkerchief. "We can do all things through God. He is greater than anything we face. Our God is stronger, and He call do all things. Call upon him, my sweet child. Jesus is greater than Admiral Norrington and greater than you. Trust in him."

I hiccuped into my borrowed handkerchief. "But I'm so afraid, Father. More afraid than when I was in that prison cell awaiting my execution. What if I marry James and it's a disaster? What if I do the wrong thing?"

Father Michael took my cold hands into his. They were warm and strong, like Papa's. The thought made me cry harder.

"Remember Jeremiah 29:11, my child. 'For I know the plans I have for you," declares the Lord, "plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.'"

Peace settled over me like a warm blanket. I sagged against the pastor, oddly calm. Those words flowed into me like living water, quenching the dryness of my soul, the weariness of my heart.

"Oh, Father," I murmured, sniffling. "My love for James is impossible. It can't ever work, can it?"

Father Michael rubbed my shoulder comfortingly. "What is impossible with man is possible with God." He reminded me. "Take courage. If God is with you, then you cannot fail."

We sat for another hour, praying and singing. Our voices blended in harmony in the vaulted cavern of the high ceilings, and by the time I was too thirsty to sing anymore, I felt more quenched within my spirit than I had felt in years. We had ended on my favorite hymn, "Amazing Grace".

"Thank you," I told Father Michael gratefully as we rose to our feet. "Thank you so much."

Father Michael smiled gently and tucked a loose strand of red hair behind my ear. "Don't thank me, Grace. Thank God."

I knew what God was calling me to do. Even though the very idea terrified me, I knew I could do it. With God, I could do anything. Even this.

Upon leaving the church, I took out not one, but all six gold coins and dropped them into the tithing box. Where I was going, I wouldn't need them anymore.

* * *

"So," Commodore Roanoke asked as I supervised the loading of the _HMS Dauntless_ , "have you decided what to do?"

The hot Caribbean sun baked down relentlessly, but I had long since grown used to the stifling heat. In just a few months, I would be back within the chilly fogs of London, away from swaying palm trees and tropical heat. I smiled wryly, sparing him a glance. "I hardly know what you mean."

Commodore Roanoke snorted, puffing out a cloud of smoke from his pipe. "Come now, James… you know very well what I mean. What will you do upon returning to London?"

I watched two crew members struggle to heave a heavy box up the gangplank and up onto the deck. They disappeared underneath into the cargo hold before I responded.

"You know my plans, Commodore," I said airily. "I plan on becoming Admiral, like my father before me."

"Oh, come now, James. I think we're on familiar enough terms for you to call me Bill."

I shook my head regretfully. "I'm afraid you'll always be Commodore Roanoke to me, sir."

"Ah, blast it all," Commodore Roanoke sighed. "Impetuous youth never fails to dishearten the old. But really, James… what will you do about this Grace girl?"

Heat flooded my face. "I haven't quite decided, sir." I said stiffly.

"We've had this conversation before, boy!" He reminded me, wagging a finger at me. "Are you really just going to let her go?"

"I don't want to talk about this." I said coolly, studying the loading of the ship.

"Very well, very well," Commodore Roanoke said gruffly. "But I have a gift for you, should you choose to go after this gal."

I raised a brow. "It's so unlike you to meddle in personal affairs, sir," I said sardonically. Commodore Roanoke grinned shamelessly.

"Let an old man have his fun, James," he chortled. He handed me a roll of parchment, tied with a crimson red ribbon. "I received this just last week. Go on and read it."

Brows still raised, I obeyed. I unfurled the scroll, which was written in elegant slanted calligraphy that bespoke of authority. Lots of authority.

As I read, my mouth dropped open. The letter fell from my hands as I turned to stare at the old Commodore, stunned.

"You'll want to be careful with that," he laughed. "That letter's from the king, you know."

I could hardly believe what I had just read. "The king… the king's promoted me to Captain."

Commodore Roanoke patted my shoulder in a fatherly way. "You should be very proud, son. To achieve the rank of Captain in the Royal Navy at just twenty-two years old… that's quite a feat. Nearly unheard of. But you've earned it."

I shook my head, unable to comprehend the dizzying truth. "But… does that mean…"

"Yes. It means you'll be captaining my former ship, the _HMS Dauntless_. At least, until you're promoted to Lieutenant and given even more authority. Soon you'll have an entire fleet at your command."

I wanted to weep. After so many years, so much hard work, my dream was becoming a reality. Captain Norrington. Soon, it would Lieutenant. Then, Commodore. And finally, Admiral.

"I don't deserve this." I managed thickly, words seeming to fail me.

"Ah, but you do." Commodore Roanoke reassured me. "I've never seen anyone as noble and honest as you are. And such determination and service will be rewarded. You have all the makings of a great Admiral like your father. You'll go far, James Norrington. Mark my words. Now, go sail across the Atlantic and go find that Grace girl! Your ceremony will be held at the Academy upon your arrival home. Congratulations, my boy, and well-done."

Still stunned, I walked numbly up the gangplank, crew members parting before me. An officer hurried up to me, saluting stiffly. "Orders, sir?"

I gazed back briefly at the swaying palm trees, then to the vast expanse of endless blue sea. But I knew it did end. Just a few thousand miles away awaited my family, my ceremony. And maybe even my future wife.

"Hoist the sails and weigh anchor as soon as the cargo is loaded. We make for London at the turn of the tides."

At last, I was going home.

* * *

"You're _what?_ " Tom exclaimed nearly two weeks after Admiral Norrington's unexpected visit.

"I'm leaving." I said shortly. "I'm sorry, Tom, but I must go. My time with you is over. Now, I have to close this chapter of my life and move on to the next one. I have to leave the nest."

Charity had dropped her mug of tea, which had shattered upon the floor. She stared at me as if she had never seen me before, and worse, with tears of anguish in her eyes. Tom was still staring at me, dumbfounded, his mouth hanging open.

"But… but… you're so _happy_ here!" Tom protested. "You're always laughing, always smiling. The customers love you. _We_ love you!"

"I'll never be able to thank you enough for what you've done for me, Tom," I said sadly, bending over to pick up the broken shards of ceramic from the floor, "but God is telling me it's time to move on. I'll be departing tomorrow morning."

"Tomorrow morning?" Tom gasped weakly. He looked at Charity in desperate appeal.

"Grace," Charity said in a trembling voice, "what did Admiral Norrington say to you? Did he threaten you?"

"No, nothing like that." I said, sponging the tea with a napkin. "He made me an offer I've decided to accept. For now. If things don't work out, then I'd be happy to return here, if you'd like."

"I'll give you a raise." Tom said at once. "I'll double, _triple_ your pay. And I'll add an extra three weeks of vacation. Please, please don't go, lass. We need you. How else will I be able to run this place? I would have lost the cafe months ago if you hadn't turned up."

His desperate words tugged at my heart. Truly, the cafe had been my refuge and haven for over half a year, but I couldn't live the remainder of my life safe within my comfort zone. God was calling me out to a new road, and I had to follow it.

"I've trained Charity well." I reminded Tom. "She's an excellent baker and seamstress. She knows the cafe inside and out. She's run it when I was sick with the flu for days at a time. Trust me; you'll be well-assisted."

"But we have so much traffic through here!" Tom objected. "We can't possibly manage these people with just two!"

"Then hire a third." I told him gently. "You said the Lord brought me and Charity to you. If you need a third, God will provide. He always knows our needs."

"I need you." Charity whispered, her eyes haunted. I knew she was afraid that without me, she'd abandon her job and return to the Open Arms Inn. She had once confessed that she made more in a half hour working there than she did in a week at the cafe, but that she would rather starve to death than ever sell her body again. Still, money was always an issue for people, and I knew she was afraid that she would slip back into that old life.

I clasped her hands gently. "You'll be fine. God is with you. And if you need me, I'm only going to be a mile away. I'm going to live with the Norringtons."

They both gasped and immediately launched into a heated tirade against the Norringtons. I listened without opening my mouth, willing myself to be patient and calm. I had known they wouldn't take the news well, which was precisely why I had waited until the last day to tell them. I didn't want them to convince me to stay. I knew the path God wanted me to follow, and it wasn't staying at the cafe for the rest of my life.

After a solid ten minutes of Charity and Tom talking over each other in an attempt to change my mind, I held up a hand for silence. They both closed their mouths at once, hope glimmering in their eyes. It broke my heart to stand firm in my resolve and shake my head sadly.

"It's over. I _have_ to do this. Please don't make this harder than it needs to be."

In a sudden move, Tom enveloped me into a bear hug. Charity joined him, wrapping me into a sandwich of two people that I loved. I was strangely overcome by emotion and couldn't stop the tears that flowed down my cheeks as they prayed over me and held me in the safety of friendship for one last time. When we parted, all three of us were misty-eyed and silent.

"You know you'll always have a place here." Tom said in a gruff voice, looking away and sniffling hard. "And I'll be wanting you to come by every week to check in."

I laughed. "Every week?"

Tom nodded fiercely. "I know you won't agree to every day, so it'll have to be a week."

"Alright." I said, smiling. Charity took my hand, tears running openly down her cheeks. She was breathtaking, even when she was crying. She was one of the women who would be beautiful well into her sixties.

"I want to go with you." She confessed. "You're like my sister. I don't want us to be parted."

My heart squeezed tight at her words, but I knew that this path was meant for me to walk down alone. "In my heart, you are my sister. But this is how it must be."

Charity gave a shuddering sigh. "I know. This is so hard. But you are right: God is with us."

The three of us hugged again. Tom brought out a special chocolate cheesecake and the three of us ate, talking merrily and reminiscing about the past half year and the hopes for the cafe. It was well past midnight when we said good night for the last time and made for our beds. Charity fell asleep quickly, her light snores filling the small room, but I lay awake for hours, watching the moon slowly trek across the black sky. It was hard to believe that it was my last time sleeping in the tower, probably forever. Tomorrow night, I would sleep beneath the roof of a mansion. The Norrington Manor, of all places. I had not shared a roof with that family since I was a child.

I wished for the night to last, but dawn arrived far too soon. The pale light of day spilled over the horizon, and Charity rose soon before the sun peaked, yawning hugely. As bakers, we were used to rousing before daylight to bake pastries and breads. I closed my eyes so that she would think I was asleep. I listened to her move quietly around our shared quarters until she padded softly down the stairs. When the sun broke gold and vermillion over the skyline, I accepted that my time had finally come. I dressed and picked up my single carpet bag, filled with a small amount of belongings I didn't want to risk leaving behind. It contained my Bible, an opal ring, a fossil given to me by James when we were children, and a few other personal items. I owned little else, and I would send for it to be retrieved by horse and cart later if the need arose.

I descended the stairs and entered the cafe three floors below and sat at the full counter, finding it odd to be a customer after so many months of serving. Tom gave me a heaping plate of biscuits, bacon, eggs, corned beef hash, and hollandaise. It was an Irish benedict, one of my favorites. I tried to eat, but my stomach was so nervous that I could barely force down three bites before I knew a fourth would push me past the limit. I sipped coffee instead and watched the customers enter and fill up the cafe until it was hard to breathe for lack of space. The sun had barely been up for an hour and it was already packed. Tom and Charity would surely prosper with the sheer volume of steady customers.

"Are you sure you don't want me to walk you, lass?" Tom asked as he took my half-eaten plate away. His blue eyes were full of fatherly concern.

"No, thank you, Tom." I said heavily. "This is something I need to face alone."

Tom nodded, slipping me a piece of paper. "Your last pay check."

My throat tightened. I knew that where I was going, money would be no issue. "Give it to the church." I instructed him. "That's God's money, not mine."

"You be careful, lass," Tom said. Charity wouldn't look at me. She was avoiding me, staying busy with baking in the kitchen. I knew she was trying to protect herself, but I felt a twist of sorrow at her avoidance. I would miss her and Tom dearly.

"I'd better get going." I said, glancing outside the windows. Already, the streets were filling with merchants, workers, and pedestrians. Soon it would be packed to the seams and nearly impossible to navigate.

Tom touched my hand then. "You be careful." He repeated sternly. "You're much too like your father for my liking."

I laughed, but Tom didn't look like he was trying to be humorous. Laughter dying, I met his gaze squarely and gave a tiny nod of understanding. "Good-bye, Tom."

Tom cleared his throat and turned his back. I thought I saw the sheen of tears in his eyes as I pushed off the barstool and exited the cafe. Instantly, I was caught up by the rushing tide of the traffic, carried like a log in a river down the hill toward the Thames River. I had to press myself against the buildings so that I could meander my way slowly up the hill toward the more affluent section of town.

It took hours, but as I pushed upstream against the endless flow of people, the scenery changed. At first it was gradual. The transition of brick and wooden buildings crammed together like sardines in a can became more and more spaced out. Townhouses replaced the apartment buildings and shops. Then large houses. Black iron or stone gates cropped up in front of the houses, which were becoming grander with the angle of the hill. My calves were aching as I entered the most prestigious and quiet part of the city. It was a sharply curving road that led me down a long hall of grand mansions, each surrounded by impressive fences and guarded by emotionless-looking men. I knew the most important people in London lived here, including the mayor, the governor, bank owners, barons, heirs, and wealthy folks who had more money at their disposal than I could even imagine. At the very end of the road, at the pinnacle of the city, was the grand manor where the Norringtons lived. Admiral Norrington had been given the biggest and best house this side of London for his renowned prestige and honor. My legs trembled with a mixture of exhaustion and nerves as I stopped before the huge black gates, pointed and lethal-looking. Beyond the gates was a frothing fountain, an immaculate lawn and garden, and the huge mansion I had broken into already.

A guard approached, a rifle in his gloved hands. His face was hard and unforgiving as he stared down at me from behind the gate. "State your business, miss, or leave. We do not tolerate trespassers here."

I gulped, my heart beating like a trapped bird within my ribcage as I met the soldier's intense stare. "My name is Grace Fisher. Admiral Norrington and Lady Katherine are expecting me."

The soldier raised a brow. "And what message shall I deliver to them, Miss Fisher?"

It was now or never. Taking a deep breath, I said, "tell them I've decided to accept their offer. Tell them that I've come home."


	14. The Sword Masters

The guards led me into the grand antechamber of the mansion. It was even more magnificent than I remembered. A crimson carpet trimmed with brass led up to the double staircase, winding both ways to the open second floor of the manor. Statues, portraits, and priceless heirlooms were on full display. A huge chandelier glittered above me like a giant hornet's nest, hanging precariously from the domed ceiling. I could scarcely take in the pure grandeur of the home. If the seaside manor back in Saint de Lune had been luxurious, this gigantic mansion was nothing short of splendidly royal. Fit for a king.

"You seem a little overwhelmed, my dear," Admiral Norrington chuckled, emerging from a side door, which I assumed lead to his office. He was wearing his dress blues, including his customary powdered white wig. I was suddenly very aware of my simple tunic and traveling cloak, of how little I had brought with me. I lifted my chin a notch, undaunted. At the end of the day, we were still both sinners in God's eyes, regardless of our station in society.

"Leave us, Hadley, Bradford," Admiral Norrington said, waving at the two guards dismissively. I watched the two uniformed guards exit through the huge oak doors. They sealed shut with an ominous thud. I looked back warily at Admiral Norrington, feeling more unsure of myself than I had ever felt in my life.

"Don't look so frightened, Miss Fisher," Admiral Norrington said pacifyingly. "You are family now."

"Am I?" I challenged, narrowing my eyes at James' father.

Admiral Norrington sighed heavily. "I guess you'll just have to learn to trust me again. Come. We've prepared a room for you."

Hesitantly, I followed him. I had the unpleasant sensation of walking into a trap. I forced myself not to run for the door and back to the safe familiarity of Tom and Charity and the cafe.

We climbed up the left side of the stairs and down a long carpeted corridor. I couldn't even fathom how much the entire mansion and its contents were worth. I looked into a beautiful gilded mirror along the hallway wall and guessed that piece of furniture alone was worth more money than I'd ever made in my life.

Admiral Norrington halted before a beautiful white door. "This will be your private chamber. I hope you will find it suitable to your expectations."

Admiral Norrington pushed open the brass handle. I was completely unprepared for the room concealed behind it.

It was large, large enough to hold all three levels of the Pirate Bride Cafe, the name Tom had given his popular restaurant. Had all three rooms - the cafe itself, Tom's quarters, and my tower with Charity - been stacked side by side, it wouldn't have filled the cavern-like room I was gaping into.

The high ceilings reminded me of the church by the docks. A huge window covered one side of the wall, facing out over the city of London and the Thames River. Billowing blue curtains hung like soft clouds around the window. A Persian rug, mahogany wardrobe, teak writing desk, and gilded mirror also stood in the bright, sunny room, but the biggest piece of furniture by far was the almost obscenely-large bed. It was like something out of a fairy tale with its intricate wooden carvings, hewn into the headboard and the four pillars supporting the luxurious star-spangled canopy top. It reminded me of Goldie Locks and the bears. The bed was simply too big for any one person.

As if reading my thoughts, Admiral Norrington said, "We had this bed specially made for James and his wife, when he marries. Should he choose you, this is where you two will live."

I bit my lip. If I knew James at all, I knew that the last place he would want to live would be with his controlling, intrusive family. They had orchestrated every part of his life. I knew without a doubt that if James and I did marry, he would choose a place to live as far away as he could get. Maybe even Saint de Lune. I flushed at the impossibility of the thought. Even if James _did_ come home, what chance was there that he still loved me? If he loved me at all like I loved him?

Admiral Norrington cleared his throat. "I can see that you're a little overwhelmed. You're used to more modest accommodations. But this is the kind of life you'll be living if you marry James. You'll find the wardrobe filled with appropriate clothes and garments. You'll have a maid to attend to your needs. I'll send her in shortly."

"I don't need a maid." I managed, stricken. This was too much. All of the ridiculously overblown grandeur was dizzying, almost sickening. Who on earth needed all of this ornamental decor? All of this lavish splendor? My 'modest accommodations' were hardly that. I knew so many people who begged for scraps of food on the streets, who could barely find work and survive…

"You'll have one, regardless. It is proper for a lady of breeding and statue to have servants to command at her leisure." He raised a brow at my outraged expression. "I can see you'll need ample time to adjust to such a life."

I was shaking with a potent mixture of rage and disgust. "I can clean out my own chamber pot, sir."

Admiral Norrington's face hardened. "We have the latest in technology. Including indoor plumbing. I'll see that Zena instructs you on how to use it."

I could feel the heat rising in my face at his calculated words. Each one was meant to remind me of my lower station in society, of the barely disguised fact that even though Admiral Norrington was accepting that James and I wanted to be together, he wasn't going to surrender his son to me without a fight. I lifted my chin a notch, determined not to show how much his words hurt. I could cry later, but I wouldn't give him the satisfaction of seeing my tears, even if he was the one to draw them.

"You can always change your mind, you know," Admiral Norrington continued, turning on his heel to exit the lavish room. "Just say the word and I'll have you escorted back to that little cafe I found you in."

I clenched my hands into fists at my sides, trembling. "I can find my own way back, sir. I don't need a parent to guide me through life."

James's father narrowed his eyes, but didn't retaliate. "Very well. See that you are properly dressed for supper. Your formal instruction begins tomorrow with Katherine. I look forward to seeing what kinds of changes she can wrought in you."

 _I'll bet you do._ I thought angrily, but I gave him a cold smile. I wasn't going to give in without a fight. "Thank you, sir." I gave a mocking curtsy, to which Admiral Norrington shook his head and left.

I closed the door behind him and leaned against the cold wood, the tears coming. It had been too easy, too good to be true. I should have known that there was an ulterior motive to Admiral Norrington inviting me to live with him and his wife until James returned home. This was nothing more than an attempt to scare me off for good. He knew I was shocked by their affluence and I could only imagine what kinds of things Katherine would teach me tomorrow. It was a life far-flung from the humble one I'd lead for my twenty years. I _was_ scared, but not of Admiral Norrington or his wife. I was scared of losing my chance to see James, even if it was for one last time, a final farewell.

Barely five minutes had passed when there was a gentle knock at the door. "Who is it?" I asked, instinctively wary.

"Zena, my lady. Admiral Norrington and Lady Katherine sent me to serve you."

The catch in my throat burned until I had to swallow back tears. Opening the door, I was faced with a young African woman with a thick accent. She was young, no older than sixteen or seventeen. She had her hands clasped before her, a careful look in her strangely bright eyes. There were a mixture of hazel and amber, and very beautiful. Nothing else about her was extraordinary. She wore a simple uniform with a striped sash declaring her race as an Ethiopian and had a bandana over her dark hair. My heart twisted inside of me. She reminded me of Charity, and of Mary. I wondered how she had become a servant in this household, if she missed her family like I did.

"Come in, please," I said, sniffling as I forced the tears back in. Zena entered, glancing around at the expensive surroundings. My cheeks burned in shame at her pointed look.

"You should change into your gown, my lady," Zena said, opening the wardrobe. It was filled to bursting with fancy and frilly clothes that made me cringe. "Supper will be served soon."

There was no animosity in Zena's voice, nor dislike in her bright eyes, but I could feel the social chasm between us. I had once been in the same social circle as she; until about five minutes ago. Now, I was playing princess, acting the role, until James came home and I decided whether or not this lavish lifestyle was for me.

"What would you like to wear, my lady?" Zena asked, her dark hand skimming through the rack of lush dresses. She displayed a blue satin wrapper, a pink gossamer gown, a yellow silk robe. Most of the dresses were laughably puffy, like a cupcake or souffle. I couldn't stifle my grin of disbelief.

"Which one would you like, my lady?" Zena asked again.

"Please, call me Grace." I insisted. "None of this 'my lady' nonsense." I waved a finger metronomically and pointed it at the most simple dress I could find. "That one."

Zena pulled the black gown from the wardrobe. "It's very somber, my lady."

"Call me Grace. And I think it'll suit the occasion perfectly." A funeral for my old life. Black for grief, black for saying goodbye. Black for the seriousness of the situation. It would send a message to Admiral Norrington most of all.

Zena reached for a white corset, but I backed away from her as though she had brandished a live snake. "Get that torture device away from me."

Zena looked shocked. "But, my lady-"

"Grace."

"But, _Grace…_ it is customary to wear such things."

"We'll pretend I don't know that yet. I refuse to wear that torture device. Just hand me the dress, please."

Looking very apprehensive, Zena obeyed. She helped me into the black gown, which was satisfyingly depressing and would definitely stand out. Zena arranged my hair into a severe bun, and I refused to allow her to do any sort of make-up. I pinched my cheeks and bit my lips to give them their own natural color.

"How do I look?" I asked, twirling slightly before the large mirror. Zena nodded gravely. "You look like a queen. In grieving."

"Oh, dear." I sighed. "I was hoping for a different effect."

Zena held the door for me as I left, the long black train of the gown trailing behind me. "What effect is that, my lady?"

"It's _Grace,_ Zena. Grace. And I was hoping," I mused, looking behind me, "to look like a mermaid."

I descended the staircase, focusing on not tripping over the ridiculous trailing hem of the black dress. I could hear voices as I floated down the steps. Lots of voices.

Frowning, I tried to count the different timbres of the voices, and lost count of the steps I was taking. I missed a step, and the next thing I knew, I was tumbling down the last few steps of the stairs. I landed with an almighty crash at the bottom, blinking hard, stunned.

A servant hurried over, looking alarmed. "My lady! Are you alright?"

"I'm fine, I'm fine." I huffed, rising shakily to my feet, the adrenaline making me feel loose and unhinged. "Just a little startled, thank you."

Eyes still wide, the servant bowed and offered me his arm. Grateful, I took it for support and allowed him to lead me into the dining room, which was filled with not only Admiral Norrington and his wife, but with at least a dozen well-dressed, laughing people. I could practically smell the stench of money as I surveyed the nearly-full table.

"Ah, Grace!" Katherine cried, clapping. "I'm so glad you could join us! I was just about to send Charles to check on you. You look lovely, dear!"

I noticed that almost everyone at the table was dressed in the finest of suits and dresses. My black gown was much more suited for a funeral. I knew I was very out of place with these people, who were brightly adorned and looking quite shocked at my shocking appearance.

"'Lovely' isn't the word I would use," Admiral Norrington remarked dryly as the servant who had helped me walk in pulled out a chair for me to sit in. "More like… 'grave'."

"Oh, Lawrence," Katherine tittered, lightly tapping his arm. "That dress makes your eyes so intense, darling. You are lovely."

The guests at the table were staring at me with undisguised curiosity. Most of them looked friendly and merely curious, but a few looked disgusted and outraged, including Admiral Norrington. I knew that my choice of dress had offended him, and I smiled coldly back. It had been a gauntlet thrown down, a challenge. And I knew he would undoubtedly pick it up. It was in his blood, just like it was in James'.

"We were just discussing your hometown, Grace," Admiral Norrington said, dabbing lightly at his mouth with a monogrammed handkerchief. "Saint de Lune is better known across the Atlantic as a restocking point for ships, especially the ones in Jonathan's fleet. He owns emporiums in India, France, Ireland, England, and the New World."

I had the unpleasant but not unexpected feeling that they'd been discussing more than just my hometown. I wondered what else about me Admiral Norrington had been telling his friends. Mouth tight, I forced a small smile and took a sip of iced water from my glass. The fact that they had access to any ice at all was a mark of just how wealthy these people were.

"I haven't been to Saint de Lune in over a year," I told the table at large, "but it was a wonderful place to grow up."

"Lawrence was telling us that you and James were very close as children," an older man said, the firelight reflecting against his spectacles. "Almost like siblings."

I allowed a cool smile. "Not quite. You see, James and I were considering marrying and running away together in Saint de Lune. He didn't want to leave me behind to come to the Academy."

The impact of my careless words was felt around the table. Admiral Norrington's face flushed while Katherine's eyes bulged. The table was silent until a nervous laugh worked its way around the table, until each person was laughing with gaiety and gusto.

"What a thing to say!" the woman seated beside the bespectacled man chortled. "James, marry a girl of your station and abandon his dreams! Oh, you are a funny girl, Grace Fisher."

Admiral Norrington's cold blue eyes met mine, and I knew he was challenging me to correct her. I decided to take a different tactic and play the devil's advocate. Sipping my water again, I said, "Who are you, exactly?"

The woman touched the man beside her. "I am Marguerite Bartholomew. This is my husband, Francis. Our daughter Katie is _very_ interested in James."

I was unprepared for the tidal wave of jealousy and outrage at her happy words. Admiral Norrington seemed very pleased at my reaction. Mouth tight, hands shaking, I drained the entire goblet of water and surveyed the couple. "Where is your daughter?"

"She had a baby shower to attend this evening, but she is quite friendly with James." The mother gushed. "I suspect that they've been corresponding by mail ever since he left for the New World."

The violent jealousy was quickly transforming into resigned grief. _Of course James moved on. I haven't seen him in almost seven years. He wouldn't want to waste his time dreaming for a reunion between us. He belongs with his own kind. With people like this. People like Katie Bartholomew._

Dejected, I sat at the long table for the next two hours, listening to the debacle between the guests and hosts. It was mildly interesting to watch. Growing up with the Moores, I had never seen such rich fare or mannerisms. Watching these people was like watching a bunch of frilly, puffed-up peacocks, emboldened and drunk on their own fortunes and success. I clenched my hands under the table in anger and disgust. I remembered the starving and defeated faces of so many poor and addicted lining the streets of London, and the faces of those too sick to cry in Saint de Lune. How did any of these people have the audacity to think that anything they were given belonged to them? God had given them stewardship over what they thought they owned, and now, here they were, stuffing themselves on expensive food and drink, gluttons of power and success, rather than share their bottomless wealth with those much less fortunate. It was a sickeningly display to watch.

"So, Grace," Mr. Bartholomew asked, after almost two hours of being ignored, "tell us what you did for work before coming to live here."

All eyes turned to me. My face burned as I said, "I was a baker at a cafe near the docks."

"How much did you make?" the banker asked.

It was the first time I had felt the need to defend my occupation. "Very little. One shilling a day."

A shocked, embarrassed silence fell around the table. The banker looked like he had just been hit in the face by something heavy.

"It wasn't much, but I don't need a lot." I said boldly, with a telling look around the extravagant table. "I suppose I'm the odd one out on that."

An uncomfortable silence settled like a fat black crow upon the table. Katherine raised her glass of champagne. "To God's blessings!"

Everyone lifted their glasses for a toast, including me. But just as I did, a servant had bent to take my plate. I accidentally clipped him in the face, causing him to rear back into another servant, who was carrying a tray of fruit. The servant tripped as the tray went flying and a barrage of grapes and apples catapulted into the portraits on the walls. A candelabra was knocked over by a particularly large apple, causing a fire to catch alarmingly fast on the thick ornate curtain. The servants put out the fire with a bucket of water just as the curtain completely caught aflame and scorched the ceiling.

Everyone stared at me in the silence. Then, one of the guests burst into raucous laughter. Before long, everyone was laughing - except for Admiral Norrington and I. His ice-blue eyes were locked on me, and I felt a thrill of fear mingling with challenge as I stared back. I could read his expression as clear as if he'd spoken: _Grace Fisher, you are a walking catastrophe. And no match for my James. See?_

"Shall we adjourn to the garden for dessert?" Katherine laughed, and the entire party rose from their chairs to file out into the beautiful garden in the backyard. Admiral Norrington matched my pace, clearing his throat.

"Perhaps it's best if you went to bed," he suggested in a low voice. I bit my lip, sensing it was time to surrender the battle. This battle was lost, but the war was not yet over.

"I think you're right." I said tonelessly. "Tell the others farewell for me."

"You won't need to worry about that." Admiral Norrington assured me, his cool blue eyes hard as glaciers. "Off to bed with you. I'd expect no better behavior from the child of a pirate."

My heart pounded faster. "Careful, Admiral," I said lightly, though I felt like slapping him, "the others might hear you're harboring a pirate's daughter in your house. I wonder what they would say."

"Your lessons resume tomorrow with Katherine." He said quietly. "Not that it'll make much difference. Just let me know when you're ready to surrender, Grace."

Admiral Norrington walked away. I retreated upstairs and closed the door, leaning against it as the tears came. _I won't give up. Not yet._

James would need to hurry back to England if I was going to see him. I wouldn't last long in this house.

* * *

The ship navigated the mouth of the Thames River easily. Guided by a strong tailwind, the sails billowed out like great white wings as the ship gilded upwards and closer to London. In less than a day, I would be home for the first time in nearly two years.

After a ceremony, I would be given my position and new assignment. The ceremony would be very much like the ones my father had attended, filled with sweating, bored observers and followed by much eating and drinking.

My hands tightened on the smooth wooden railing of the ship ghosting through the river. The stench of London was already flowing down through the length of the murky water, tempering my homesickness against the desire for fresh sea air.

I had a plan, though. My ceremony would be held tomorrow at sundown. Afterwards, I would travel to Saint de Lune and find out once and for all what had become of Grace. If she had either married or died, or perhaps had disappeared off the face of the earth, just like so many of her class tended to do. They would run away, never to be seen or heard from again.

My palms were damp with nervous sweat. What would I say to her, after so many years apart? I hadn't seen Grace since we were children. More than children, but less than adults. And her father… what would I say to her about her father?

What would I say to her about how I really felt for her?

If she had a husband, I thought about challenging him for rights to her. A quick thrust of the sword through the chest would leave her a widow and I could claim her as my wife. But what if she had children with the man? How could I deprive of them of their natural father? Could I adopt her children? Would I be able to take that burden upon myself?

Hardest of all… could I allow her to go on with her life without intervention? Could I bear it?

I exhaled shakily, hating the alien sense of no control. I was so used to being in command of every situation that the uncertainty of what had become of Grace ate me inside like a parasite. Did I have the strength to let her go again? Did I have the courage to find out what had happened to her?

"We're almost to London, now, sir," one of the sailors told me, his hands tucked behind his back. "We'll be there by midnight. The tides will allow us to enter easily. Orders?"

"Proceed as ordered." I told him tartly. The sailor bowed and rushed off to fulfill my order. A roll of nausea swept through me as I pictured Grace's face again.

What if she was dead? What if she _had_ married? What if I had to let her go, once and for all?

Leaning over the railing, I was seasick for the first time in my life. But I knew that this was no case of seasickness.

It was the very thought of losing Grace forever that made me sick to my stomach.

* * *

"Project!" Katherine commanded as she walked around the upper floor of the massive library. "You must be able to be heard from every corner of the room."

"I AM NOT AFRAID OF TOMORROW, FOR I HAVE SEEN YESTERDAY AND LOVE TODAY." I shouted. Katherine glared at me from above, waving her hands impatiently.

"Don't _scream_ , dear," she chided. "It's Shakespeare, not a public hanging."

"It might as well be." I muttered. The first day of lessons was going just as dismal as I had predicted it would. Katherine sighed loudly. "From the top! Use your diaphragm, not your throat, to project. Again!"

After this dreadful practice, it was time to crochet and knit. And then tea time. After that, we practiced walking properly and breathing. Katherine had insisted that I wear a corset, and I was none too happy. And I had an extremely difficult time breathing.

I had never missed the bakery more than I did then. I longed to knead a ball of fragrant dough, to primp a fat goose roasting in an oven, to brush streaks of flour across my face when a strand of hair would fall loose from my bun. I longed for the bakery and seriously considering abandoning the fight altogether, but I knew that if I did, Admiral Norrington would win and I would lose James, probably forever.

"That's enough for today, I think," Katherine said, looking slightly alarmed as I fought to remove myself from the crushing corset. "I can show you how to unlace that."

"Get this thing off of me!" I snarled. I wanted to burn the wretched thing.

At that moment, Zena entered. "Help her, and God help me!" Katherine wailed as she fled from the room.

"Be still, my lady," Zena murmured. Resigned, I leaned against the wall as Zena unlaced the tight corset from me. I nearly fainted from relief when the choking fabric came undone.

"I swear I will never wear that again." I vowed fervently. "That thing is _evil_."

"I am sorry, my Lady," Zena apologized, and I could hear the smile in her voice. "Dinner will be ready shortly."

"I will not be joining anyone." I said matter-of-factly. "I would like a tray to be brought up to me. A biscuit and beans, please."

"That's peasant fare." Zena protested. "The cook has prepared a meal of roast quail and pheasant tonight."

"I don't care. I want the peasant fare."

Resigned, Zena departed. I gazed out of the ornate window, wishing for the endless blue of the ocean. I missed Saint de Lune more than ever, and the tide of homesickness that swept over me reduced me to tears. I took a cold bath and laid in the too-soft bed, waiting for my meal.

When it arrived, the familiar smell brought even more tears of homesickness. The servant fled from my emotions. Through my tears, I ate the simple meal gratefully and vowed to leave this place behind in a week. If James wasn't back by then, then so be it. This frivolous, fussy lifestyle was _not_ for me.

I picked out a book from the small collection Katherine had left for me. _Robinson Crusoe_ was an old favorite Admiral Norrington had once read to me and James as children. I must have fallen asleep reading, because when I awoke, the mansion was quiet and the fire in the hearth was very low. I drew a cloak about my shoulders and leaned out the window. London was silent at night, the Thames glittering in the light of the full moon. A large military ship floated in the dock, moored to the full marina.

I missed the ocean more than ever. London, even from this high place, smelled like garbage and sewage.

And then I saw it: a moving figure, coming closer. It was a man, by the looks of him. He was striding purposefully up the street, right up to the large iron gates of the Norrington manor. Without hesitation or preamble, he climbed over the gates and headed for the house.

Adrenaline shot through my veins. The boredom of the stuffy mansion melted away in a flood of pounding blood. I grabbed one of the swords laying on the mantle of the fireplace and rushed downstairs on light feet.

I could see the stranger approaching through the glass windows now. Hardly daring to announce myself, I hurried through the nearby kitchen door and to the side of the house. The man was standing at the door, frowning as if he was waiting for someone who had not shown up for their appointed time.

I crept closer to the man, drawing my sword in the silence of the night.

* * *

The door was locked. I frowned, craning my neck to see if anyone was waiting for me. No guards had been posted but the gates and the door were both locked. Father had known I was coming, so why was it locked?

Before I could knock or call for help, a sharp point pressed into the small of my back. And then a woman's voice growled, "Turn around and state your business, stranger."

My body pulsed with the electricity of adrenaline just before a fight. "I do not answer to you, woman."

"Turn around."

"If you'll kindly remove the knife from my back, I will."

"It is not a knife." the woman hissed. Just as she cautiously pulled back the sharp point, I grasped my sword with the reflex borne of years of military training and turned on the spot.

The woman was young. Her dark eyes glittered in the moonlight. And it wasn't a knife. It was a sword. She held the point low, expertly, which clashed with her flowing gown and rich cloak. This lady of breeding knew how to handle a man's weapon. But there was something oddly familiar about her…

"I do not appreciate having weapons drawn on me." I told her coldly.

"I don't appreciate strange men attempting to enter my house." She replied frostily. I could tell a fight was drawing nearer, the energy crackling like lightning. I tapped her sword lightly with mine and she instantly parried it back. I gave a small smile. This was no inexperienced debutante. This lady was trained in the art of swordsmanship.

"You have some skill with a blade?" I asked her lightly, parrying again.

"I have had the skills since I was five." The young woman replied. She was plain, but her fiery spirit was evident in her flashing eyes.

"Forgive me, then, my lady." I said lightly, and slapped my sword against hers.

Her reaction was instantaneous. The ensuring skirmish was impressive, especially for a woman in a dress. After several seconds of ringing steel, her sword flashed in the silver light of the moon and nicked my cheek. My eyes widened at the tiny stinging cut. I responded by slashing off the sleeve of her rich cloak. She shook it off angrily and continued her barrage.

We were evenly matched. Grinning, I asked, "You're very good. What is your name?"

"My name is none of your concern." the woman snapped. "But I do have to tell you something."

"Oh?"

"I'm not left handed." Her sword changed hands and the sudden onslaught was actually frightening.

"Unfortunately for you, I am not left handed either." My sword entered my right hand, and I fought back with even greater intensity. The woman's downfall wasn't her lack of skill but her dress. Tripping as she avoided a vicious strike, she fell to the ground. I grabbed her arm before she went down.

"Let me go!" She snarled. Even after an intense fight, she was incredibly strong. Her muscles were tight beneath her dress.

"Not until you tell me your name." I said coolly. This was no Katie Bartholomew, but she _was_ in my parents' house. And that could only mean one thing: this was their chosen match for me.

And then she did something only one other person ever had: she stomped hard on my insole, causing me to double over instinctively. Then she whirled around and used gravity to pin me to the wall. Her bright blue eyes, the color of a summer sea, sparkled with outrage.

It was at that moment I realized I was looking into the eyes of my love.

"Grace?" I managed, the name dragging out like a dying wind from my throat. Grace's eyes widened. She had grown in the past several years, but the spunk was the same. And so were her blue eyes, so endlessly deep that I could have drowned in them.

"Who _are_ you?" She asked, frowning suspiciously.

I removed my hat, revealing my brown hair. "You don't remember me, Fisher?"

Grace's eyes narrowed further, and then suddenly widened as she finally recognized me.

" _James_?" She choked out, her eyes filling with tears.

"It's me." I said roughly, spreading my arms. "I'm home."

Grace stared at me, frozen. I frowned, opening my mouth to ask her what was wrong. Before I could speak, she flung herself at me, crushing her mouth against mine.


	15. The Proposition

**I know I'm the worst author ever for taking months to update, but writer's block is no joke! Finally found my creative flow again... thank you, readers, for sticking with me and this story. More to come!**

* * *

He tasted like Heaven and smelled like home. James dropped his sword and held me against him, the frantic pounding of his heart matching my own. When we finally broke apart for breath, all I could do was run my hands over his face, his hair, his shoulders, to make sure that he was really here, that he was real and not another dream.

"How did you find me?" I whispered, tracing his jawline, which was rough with stubble. He was no longer a boy. He had filled out, his hard muscles firm beneath his clothes. James had grown up in the last seven years. He was a man now.

"I was going to ask you the same question, Miss Fisher," James laughed, and a giggle bubbled out of me. The heavy weight of the past few years had fallen away, like it had never existed. The joy that filled me was so light, so buoyant, that I was kissing him and laughing again. I had never felt so good. The transition from friends to more than friends had been so easy, so right. I felt oddly complete, as though a missing piece of myself had finally been put back into place. A dreamy sense of wholeness made my eyes water and spill over.

"Why are you crying?" James asked huskily, wiping them away with his hands, rough and calloused from his time on a ship and with a sword in his hands. "I thought you'd be happy to see me, not upset." His voice was full of gentle teasing. My face filled with heat at the sound of his voice. It was so deep. No longer was it warbling and broken. It was a pleasantly deep voice that made strange, intense sensations pulsate from inside of me.

"I'm sorry." I laughed, half-crying, half-laughing. "I can't stop!" I compensated for my flaming emotions by kissing him again, more urgently this time. His hands slid behind my head, and when he parted my mouth, I couldn't breathe. When he finally released me, I was trembling with the power of the emotions surging between us. His eyes were dark as the ocean beneath a new moon.

"I love you, Grace Fisher," James said quietly. "Will you… will you do me the greatest honor and be my wife?"

The question was sprung on me so fast that I merely gaped at him. James open vulnerability faltered. Uncertain, he swallowed hard and looked away. "Forgive me. I'm rather awful at-"

I kissed him again, silencing the rest of his words. Would I ever get enough of him, or would I always want more? I was trembling worse than ever. "I love you, too, James Norrington. I always have. I always will."

James' expression softened. "Grace…"

We embraced each other for several minutes. I leaned my ear against his chest, listening to the miracle of his beating heart. His scent, so comforting and familiar, covered me like a soft, warm blanket. The wonder of coming back together after so many years apart transcended all of my understanding. This was uncharted territory. James was no longer a familiar shore, but now a deep, fathomless ocean, and I was drowning.

"So," I murmured after a blissful ten minutes in his arms, "who's Katie Bartholomew?"

James stiffened as though he'd been stabbed. Drawing back, he gazed into my eyes, about to speak, when I casually added, "Her parents told me over dinner that she's quite taken with you."

James's mouth fell open. "Over _dinner_? _Here?"_

"Yes, here. They were quite frilly and silly, like big white geese with bonnets. Everyone was rather boring. Except for your father. We've had a few rows and he's always won the battles, but I think I may have just won the war with your proposal for marriage."

Heat flooded James face. "You had a row with my father?" He was grinning. "Is he still breathing?"

"Obviously. I wouldn't want to rob my future husband of his father."

James laughed once, and then his gaiety died out, replaced by utmost solemnity - this was the calm, serious James that I was used to. "Tell me you're not teasing me, Grace Fisher. Tell me that you mean it."

"Mean what?" I asked coyly, ruffling his hair. "That I didn't kill your father?"

James' grin reappeared. "Or any of the dinner guests?"

"Well," I said lightly, easing down with him on the grass and nestling close, "I may have to do something about Miss Katie Bartholomew. I can't have my James marrying a brainless cupcake. But then again, maybe he'd prefer her sweetness to my ire."

"Maybe the holes in my head fit the horns in yours." James said teasingly.

We laughed again, but abruptly fell silent as a candle light flared from upstairs. Giggling, I took James' hand and ran with him to the other side of the property until we were beside a bubbling fountain, the moon reflecting off of the pond. I had spent much time here, watching the little creatures who lived inside of it. It was filled with goldfish, turtles, and frogs. These frogs now croaked a cacophony of sound, from deep bass to high-pitched sopranos. The guttering candle from the upstairs window disappeared out of sight.

"Are you in the habit of fighting off intruders with swords in the dead of night?" James asked quietly, studying my face intently by the light of the stars and moon.

"Just the snobbish ones." I replied, working my hair into a braid. "I can't stomach those who think they're better than others, and those who leave others for their own pride and gain." Suddenly chilled, the warm glow faded as a cold wave of sadness and bitterness surged through me. Backing up slightly, I looked at the ground. "Why didn't you come back for me?" I despised the shaking in my voice as tears surged afresh, but not tears of joy this time.

The frogs croaked louder than ever in the silence that followed. I glanced up and caught James' gaze, which was now anguished. "Grace…"

My eyes filled with tears again. "They were going to kill me, James. They were going to burn me at the stake as a witch. Admiral Ghent's wife thought I was the reason for her daughter's death. You weren't there to save me."

"How did you escape?" James asked softly.

"A pirate saved me, of all people." I said hollowly, remembering Jack, wondering where he was now. "He saved me and then snuck me out on his father's ship. Then he kissed me. Or, rather, I kissed him. He wanted payment for saving him, and I gave him the only currency I had."

James drew back, his eyes blazing. "Who was this scoundrel?"

"Jack Sparrow." I watched James' face for any sign of recognition, but there was none. "After we sailed here, he left port. He offered to let me go pirating with him, but I turned him down."

"Why?" James demanded, and I looked at him with angry tears in my eyes. "What stopped you from going with this rogue?"

"I chose to wait for you!" I said vehemently, then, realizing someone could be listening, lowered my voice. "I waited for you and I wanted to live my own life. I couldn't go back to Saint de Lune. They were going to kill me. I couldn't wait for you anymore. I'm sorry, James. I didn't mean to upset you. You deserve the truth, not lies." I dropped my gaze into my lap, angry at the tears in my eyes. What good did crying ever do?

James looked as though he wanted to kill someone. The fevered look of hatred scared me. I stood up and looked down at him. "Why are you so hostile towards pirates, anyway? Didn't Captain Teague of the _Misty Lady_ save your life when you were a boy?" I didn't tell him that _The Misty Lady_ was the same ship I had sailed on from Saint de Lune to London.

James leapt to his feet, his face pale with rage. "We will not speak about that ever again, Miss Fisher. I forbid it."

The warm, sweet feelings of reconcilation had dissolved. The force of my long-held feelings and hurt from his defection seven years ago was now raising up a storm inside of me. I glared at him reproachfully. "So am I merely another sailor for you to command, my _lord?_ Or is it Admiral yet?"

James' eyes narrowed. "It will be Lieutenant tomorrow, Miss Fisher. I was going to invite you to the ceremony, but perhaps you'd find it a little too 'frilly and silly', for your tastes. Maybe you'd prefer it back in the slums where you came from."

I slapped him across the face. James wiped the blood from his mouth and gave me a look of familiar loathing, the look the exact same one that Admiral Norrington had given me many times before. My own eyes were overflowing again, to my great chagrin and mortification.

"Then I suppose I'll be leaving for my rightful place. Back to the slums." A still coldness had stolen inside of me, and I felt numb. If I allowed myself to feel what was really going on, I would shatter into a million pieces and never be put back together again. James, after all of my years of waiting and hoping, had turned out to be exactly like his father.

And I could never marry a man like that.

As I stormed off for the gate, James grabbed my arm. I swung around sharply to strike him again, but he blocked it and caught my wrist. I tried to yank my other one free, but he had it locked in his grip like a chain. When we were children, I was always able to best him in physical combat. But his years at the naval academy had transformed him into someone much stronger and with sharper reflexes than my own. To be beaten by him like this chaffed me raw.

"Let go." I ground out furiously.

James kissed me suddenly, and traitorous heat spread through me. "No. I'm never letting you go again."

The fury in me died, replaced instead by despair. "James, it will never work between us." My gaze skittered away, blurred with tears.

"Why not?" James said gently, releasing my wrists and touching my face. "Because of what others might say? I'm not my parents. I love and respect them, but I have a mind of my own. I'm sorry I spoke so harshly. You make me feel powerful emotions. You stir a fire in me, Grace, a fire that no one else can. My parents don't understand that."

"They want you to marry Katie Bartholomew." I said raggedly, like a sword in my guts. "They want you to marry someone respectable, kind, and with a pedigree. Someone who isn't from the docks or the slums. But I'm not like that, James. I can't give you what she can."

"No, you can't." James agreed, and I looked at him, hurt all over again. "You can give me something much better. _You_."

"Why me?" I cried. "I'm nothing! I'm just an orphan, James. My family has nothing. _I'm_ nothing. I can bake and sew and climb trees and fight, but I'm not right for you. I would only hold you back." Even as I found myself repeating Lawrence Norrington's words, I knew he was right all along, and that I had to tell James the truth, no matter what it meant. Hanging my head, I said, "You hate pirates, James. But I'm the _daughter_ of a pirate. Don't you see? I'm the child of a scoundrel. Which makes me a mongrel in your family's book, doesn't it?"

I waited for him to let me go, to shout or scream, to wash himself of me and my inherited filth. But all he did was turn my face so that I had to look at him squarely. I tried to move my head so that he couldn't see the ravages of my grief, but he was firm and didn't give me any ground.

"I know," he said quietly, and I couldn't hide my shock.

"You _know_?" I whispered. "But… how?"

"I… I met your father over the sea, Grace." James admitted, and I felt as though I had received a huge electric shock. "In the New World, in Port Royale. He asked me to protect you."

I stared at him in confusion. "Protect me from what?"

"He wouldn't say." James said, looking away. "But he wanted me to tell you that he left you for a reason. He didn't do it because he does not want you. He had to for your safety. He asked me to return to you and guard you. But I can't do that. Not with my feelings for you being as they are. It would be inappropriate, unless…"

"Unless what?" I asked hesitantly, unsure of where he was going with this.

James was blushing again. He cleared his throat. "I'm not accustomed to these emotions. I'm not entirely sure how to proceed."

"You could start by remembering you're talking to me and not the Queen." I teased, earning a grin from James.

"Oh, alright." James sighed, smiling. "Grace, I've thought about you every day since we last saw each other. I carry you in my spirit, and I have missed you more than I ever believed possible. I don't want to be separated from you again, not by anything, not even by death." I hadn't realized that James had sunk into a kneeling position. "I want us to be married, Grace. I want to make a covenant before God with you, so that we will never be separated again. I meant what I said earlier. Did you think I was joking?"

I made an odd, ugly laugh that sounded halfway between a giggle and a sob. "You don't want to marry me." I pleaded. I wasn't sure if I could live with Lawrence and Katherine and all the rest turning their backs on us for getting married. "You'll regret it, James, I swear it."

"The only thing I'll regret is letting you go again." James vowed, his eyes bright and full of love. "I want you, Grace Fisher, for better or for worse, whatever that may mean. I know that tomorrow isn't promised, but I love you, and I want you to know that I will never love another as I love you. Say you love me, Grace. Say that you will be my wife."

My heart was pounding so hard I was sure he could hear it. "But look at us," I said, my voice cracking with emotion, "we're already fighting. Wouldn't you rather have a submissive, quiet wife like Katie?"

"A passionate woman is worth the chaos." James said wryly, drawing a ring from his pocket, an old ring that drew a gasp from me. "Where did you get that?" I demanded hoarsely.

"Your father gave it to me." James said, slipping the silver ring on my finger. "He said it belonged to your mother."

Weeping, I sank to my knees, covering my face, overwhelmed. Could it really be that simple and easy? After seven years of missing him, an entire lifetime of loving him, after the thousands of unspoken things that passed between us, did it really boil down to one single word?

James didn't speak. He merely parted my hands and looked at me gravely, his heart in his eyes. He was so unguarded. He was no longer Lieutenant Norrington. He was my James again, the same James who had grown with me as a child and who had held my heart longer than his breath for my answer.

It would too easy to say no and to run back to the bakery. It would be surrender and defeat to sail back to Jack and be his first mate. It would be easy, and I would never forgive myself for letting this pass me by.

"Yes," I said, the great weight of my decision lifting off of me with my choice. "Yes. Yes! YES!" I couldn't believe I had the daring and courage to accept his proposal. I threw my arms around him, laughing and weeping, listening to the frantic pounding of his heart as his arms wrapped around me in a tight embrace. "Yes, James. I will marry you."

After seven years apart, I finally felt like I was home.

"We have to tell your parents." I realized, giggling in near-hysteria. What would they do? Hang us? "How are we going to tell them without risking death?"

"They won't kill me, and they won't lay a hand on you if they know me well, which they do." James said reassuringly, kissing me again and pulling back to gaze intently at my face. "I love you, Grace. We could run away back to Saint de Lune. We could go home."

I opened my mouth to protest when a deep voice filled with cold fury said, "That is quite enough."

Both of us turned to stare at Admiral Norrington, who held a lantern in his clenched hand, his furious face illuminated by the glow of the fire.


End file.
